


Drawn to you

by Wildrivver



Series: Drawn to you [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Enjolras, Baking, Cooking, Getting Together, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, M/M, Non-Binary Feuilly, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Socially Awkward Enjolras, Tattoo Artist Éponine, Trans Grantaire, Trans Male Character, so much food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildrivver/pseuds/Wildrivver
Summary: Grantaire has been attending the Friends of the ABC for several years. They have become his family, but he has been drawn to Enjolras since the first time he laid eyes on him. He believes that his feelings will never be reciprocated until Enjolras begins to spend time with him and throws into question those assumptions. Could it be that Enjolras has feelings for him too?
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Drawn to you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115618
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is. The seed of this fic was planted in my mind almost 2 years ago and I’ve been writing it in various stages for the last year. This is the fic which I couldn’t stop thinking about and got me back into writing after 8 years. 
> 
> I am trans and ace and some parts of this story draw from personal experience. I identify a lot with both Enjolras and Grantaire to varying extents and that is why I writing them the way that I do. 
> 
> Most of this story is already written and just needs editing which is why I finally feel ready to start posting it. I hope to be able to post at least 1 chapter a week (depending on work, which is very unpredictable at the moment)

**Grantaire**

The bell chimes as I enter the tattoo shop from the chill winter afternoon. A shiver runs up my spine, the warmth beginning to seep through my coat. I unwind my scarf and throw it over the table that serves as a reception desk. Eponine comes out of the back where she has been scrubbing her hands.

“How was your day?” I ask as she continues to clean up.

“Fine,” she replies. “Just been working on some designs and a customer came in for a quick correction so nothing too taxing. You sold another piece by the way.”

“Really, which one?” I glanced around the walls where some of my drawings hang, trying to see if I can spot which one is now missing. I am eternally grateful to Eponine’s boss for allowing me to sell my work in her shop, but I am still surprised when anything actually sells. I mean, I like my drawings, but the idea that someone would pay money for one still makes me feel uncomfortable. Like I’m conning them out of money which could be better used elsewhere. Luckily for me and my bank balance I have Eponine, who tells me it’s no different than what she does, only mine is on paper and hers is on skin.

“The one of Persephone in the green dress raising a glass to a tree,” Eponine replies.

“She’s raising a glass to summer, not to a tree!”

“Whatever, nerd!” Eponine retorts fondly, retrieving the money I am owed for the picture from the cash register. “Are you sure you want to go to the Musain tonight? We could always blow them off and get trashed instead?” We are meant to be heading to the weekly meeting of the Friends of the ABC, an activist group that we have both found ourselves absorbed into. It’s part of our weekly routine to sit at the back and watch while our friends debate how they will bring about a glorious new future for all. I suspect we were naturally drawn to each other as we both shared more pressing concerns, like how we were going to get through the next day. However, despite this, they’re our closes friends.

“Where’s this coming from? I thought you were dying to see everyone. And what about Gavroche? Where’s he?” His absence is noticeable by how quite the shop is. It’s not uncommon for him to be found in a corner of the shop doing his homework or, as is more often the case, doing something he shouldn’t be. The fact that Eponine’s boss understands is another reason why she rules.

“Courfeyrac offered to pick him up from school. I’m sure neither of them will mind if I’m a little late retrieving him.”

“Those two might not be, but I think anyone who gets caught in their wake might disagree with you there,” I laugh imagining what they might be getting up to at this very moment. “I tell you what, why don’t we stop off for a bite to eat and some drinks on the way, my treat.” I brandish the riches I have just acquired for my picture.

“You’re on!” With that decided Eponine retrieves her coat and locks the door behind us as we head out into the evening.

**Enjolras**

I arrive at the Musain about half an hour before the meeting is due to begin. I don’t like to be late and so have a tendency to arrive early for everything. The Musain is a cafe/bar/live venue/book shop located in an old building which looks to be propped up by the ones on either side of it. The ground floor is cluttered with a miss matched assortment of tables and chairs, occupied by a diverse assortment of people, most of them students due to how close it is to the university. The walls are decorated with pieces by local artists and an assortment of pride flags. It is warm and welcoming, a haven to anyone who needs it. I exchanged a warm greeting with Lidia at the counter before heading to a door at the back of the main room, which leads to a private meeting room upstairs. The floorboards creak underfoot as I climb a reminder of the building’s history.

I shrugged off my satchel by a bookcase full of battered paperbacks and topped by a multitude of potted plants (both the books swap and the plants Jehan’s doing) and proceeded to arrange the furniture in the private meeting room more to my liking. Fifteen minutes later, satisfied, I slid my laptop out of my bag and begin reading over some of my notes from an earlier class.

As 7pm nears members of the group begin to file in. Combeferre, my right hand man and often the voice of rationality, is one of the first to arrive. “Have you eaten?” He asks as he takes a seat beside me.

“I grabbed a sandwich before my 11am lecture. I’ll be fine,” I shrug off his concern, barely glancing up.

“I thought as much,” Combeferre sighs with a familiar smile. He knows me too well. “Here, eat this.” He places a cardboard take away box on the table followed by a fork he has clearly borrowed from downstairs. I smile gratefully, knowing there is no use arguing with him. I opened the box to the familiar, mouth watering aroma of curry from a street vender round the corner. Yes, he knows me too well in deed. I tuck in as Combeferre asks about my day and fills me in on some research he’s been carrying out for one of our projects.

We both jump as the door slams open and Courfeyrac ducks into the room with Gavroche sitting on his shoulders. “We’re not late are we?” he asks. “We may have gotten waylaid in an ice cream parlour. Terrible it was! We were forced to try every flavour and then buy a huge sundae to share. A real hardship! But we pulled through for the greater good.”

“We saved the day?” Gavroche crows as Courfeyrac sets him on his feet, remains of ice cream still evident around his mouth.

“Eponine was working so I offered to pick him up from school,” he explains, sitting on my other side.

“And his teacher let you?” I tease.

“She loves me, especially after I took cake in for all the children on Gavroche’s birthday.”

“She might not feel so fondly towards you if she knew where he’d picked up so many of those bad habits she loves so much,” Combeferre points out.

“Do you think we’re about ready to start?” he asks, obviously eager to change the subject.

I scan the room to see if everyone has arrived. An exhausted looking Feuilly sits talking to Bahorel, two empty cups already on the table between them. Marius, Courfeyrac’s flatmate, sits with the group’s newest member, Cosette. They talk in gentle tone, paying little attention to the room around them. Opposite them Joly is slumped against Musichetta laughing at a joke. Jehan has produced a watering can from somewhere and is tending to the plants around the room. As my gaze flowed over my friends I feel warmth and admiration grow in my chest.

We are a few people short, but I think we should still probably get started. Not everyone is able to come to every meeting. However, one absence stands out to me more than the rest. Where is Grantaire? I usually can’t get through a sentence without him interrupting me with a scoff or a contradiction. It isn’t unheard for him to stand up and start delivering a counter argument which rambles off in any direction he pleases and derails any work I was hoping to get done that week. But, despite his apparent disinterest in our cause, he rarely misses a meeting. Never the less, we needed to make a start so I call the meeting to order and begin.

**Grantaire**

I realise we may have overdone it a bit when I require Eponine to help guide me to the Musain. But in my defence, they don’t serve alcohol so I needed to get my fill before heading over there. I wink at Lidia as we enter and Eponine rewards me with a sharp slap to the back of the head. I throw my hands up in defence and Lidia just laughs as we pass, knowing our antics all too well by now. The Musain is like our second home after all.

Everyone falls silent when we open the door. I stumble into the meeting room, leaning on Eponine for support, and find my gaze instantly drawn to Enjolras. There he stands; at the front of the room, cloths and dishevelled blond hair looking like he hasn’t gone home or taken a break all day, a slight crease between his brows speaking of annoyance and contempt. My feet are planted firmly to the floor now and I fell incapable of movement.

I feel a tug at my elbow and finally look away. Joly has taken my arm and I allow him to lead me to a table at the side of the room. I flop down in a seat, closely followed by Eponine, and turn my attention back to the front of the room where Enjolras is resuming where he left off. He looks to Combeferre for a moment for clarity on some point or other and then launches back into whatever point he had been trying to make before we interrupted them. I am vaguely aware of Musichetta greeting us and Eponine asking after Bossuet but my mind is elsewhere. I close my eyes and let the sound of Enjolras’s voice wash over me.

The world is fucked! We all agree on that point, but Enjolras believes that we can fix it, make a difference. My life has consisted of just trying to keep my head above the water as best I can for as long as I can remember, but Enjolras wants to save everyone. He’s a fool, a beautiful, intelligent, ferocious, misguided fool. But if anyone can, he’ll be the one to do it. That’s the one thing I have no doubt about.

“You, my friend, are hopeless,” Eponine hisses.

“You’re one to talk,” I snort, and shift position to be able to catch another glance at her feet. She is sporting a rather large pair of men’s boots which on her giver the clear message that she is not to be fucked with. But I am sure I saw another member of our group wearing those same boots only last week. “Nice boots by the way.”

“Well he doesn’t need them,” She shrugs. “I doubt he’s even spotted them missing. He left his door unlocked so I borrowed them.” I follow her gaze to where Marius and Cosette sit. Neither of them seem to notice they are being watched, both having eyes only for the other.

“Ah, is that the reason you didn’t want to come tonight?” Neither of us have anything against Cosette, she has been nothing buy friendly to everyone she has been introduced to; Marius on the other hand can be fairly oblivious. He hasn’t noticed that Eponine has feelings for him and so doesn’t understand why him bringing the girl he met in the local park whom he has fallen rapidly in love with to join their group has resulted in Eponine not talking to him.

“He’s such an idiot!”

“Agreed. Want something to drink?” I ask.

“Please.”

With one last glace towards Enjolras I slip out of the room and head back downstairs.

The truth is I am not having a good day. It took me until noon to drag myself out of bed and then an agonisingly long length of time to find anything to wear. I settled on a pair of jeans which were a size too big for me with both a hoodie and a denim jacket. I guess today I just wanted to hide. Some days I feel overly confident and don’t care what others might think, but today is not one of those days. But I still made it to the meeting, my one achievement of today.

I haven’t missed a meeting of The Friends of the ABC in two years although I am occasionally late or leave early. When I first heard about the group I had scoffed, thinking it was pointless. Sure I wanted things to be better but I couldn’t see how that was possible and so thought they were waiting their energy. They weren’t going to make a difference, just burn themselves out trying.

But they welcomed me in all the same, offered me support when I needed it and most surprising of all became my friends. On a day like today, that was what I needed most, just to be able to sit among a group of people and feel like I belong somewhere.

“Back so soon?” Lidia, the girl at the counter, asks.

“How could I stay away from your radiant beauty?” I smirk and lean against the bar.

“Flattery like that will get you nowhere my friend!” She laughs, handing a glass to one of the other waiting customers.

“And what about this kind of flattery?” I persevere, placing a note on the bar, the last one remaining from the sale of my picture.

“Now you’re speaking my language, what can I get you?” I order coffees for me and Eponine and tell her to keep the change.

Just as I set them down on the table a weight hits me in the side and I almost topple over. I just about managed to keep my balance, a feat which would have been easier if I were sober, and looked down to find a boy clinging to my waist.

“Uncle R!” the boy exclaims. I smile at Gavroche’s greeting until I felt the boy pull his hand out of my pocket. The boy pulls away, quickly trying to hide my phone behind his back.

“Give that back you little sod!” I try to grab for it.

“But Eponine won’t get me one!” He complains.

“Too right I won’t!” Eponine jumps in, plucking the phone out of Gavroche’s sticky grip and handing it back to me. “Not until you’re older!”

“So what other trouble have you been getting into today?” I ask the boy fondly.

“Uncle Courf took me to get ice cream after school!”

“And how much ice cream was left when you two had finished?”

“Not a lot,” he says joyfully and dashed back across the room, probably to annoy someone else or in search of any unguarded phones. Eponine looks after Gavroche by herself. No one knows the full details of why her parents are out of the picture but the rest of us chip in to help where we can. It isn’t your conventional family group, but it seems to work.

I glance up and see Enjolras making his way towards our table. I quickly look away and begin to busy myself picking the label off an empty bottle. Enjolras sits down and greets everyone he hasn’t yet. I simply nod at my own name, not in the mood for our usual banter.

“We’ve been offered a table at the University open day this Saturday,” Enjolras says to the table. “Seeing as most of us have graduated from our undergrad degrees now, I thought it might be a good way to bring some new people in. It’s also just a good way of showing our presence in the city and let people know we’re here if they need us. So I’m looking for volunteers to staff the table and ideas for what we should have on it.” He looks around the group hopefully.

“Sorry,” Eponine apologises in earnest. “But between Gav and my hours at the shop I don’t have the time to spare.”

Enjolras nods in understanding. “That’s fine, and thanks for coming tonight. Any support is welcome.” He glances around the rest of them. “Jehan has offered some of their poetry zines so I really only need one more person, it’s not a large table.” I place the bottle on the table with a small tap, drawing attention to myself for the first time since Enjolras had sat down.

“I’m free,” I say, finally looking up to meet Enjolras’s eyes. I watch confusion creep across his face. I get it, I’m not usually so quick to volunteer. But in this moment I want to.

“You are?” He asks.

“Sure,” I reply. “Why not?” My earlier melancholia seems to have shifted into defiance. I know Enjolras hadn’t had me in mind when he came to our table asking for volunteers and something about that made me want to surprise him. Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking.

“The open day is all day Saturday. We need to be in the quad at 9am set up.” Enjolras says, as though he is trying to give me a reason to take back my offer.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Fine, I’ll go and tell Jehan.” Still looking of footed, Enjolras stands up and walks away. I notice my friends watching me. But before I can say anything Jehan bounds over and drapes themself around my shoulders.

“So what are you going to bring on Saturday?” they ask.

“Probably just my charming whit and conversation,” I admitted as I haven’t had a single moment to think about it yet.

“Oh, you should bake something!” They exclaim excitedly. “We won’t be able to keep people way if we have your baking!”I think about it for a moment. I do enjoy baking for my friends. It was a way I could still be creative without feeling the weight of other’s expectations and ambitions for me. I enjoyed experimenting with different recipes and having my friends sample what I made. And once it was eaten it was gone. Not like the canvases that no one wants to buy littering my flat. The prospect of having a reason to bake begins to bring me out of the fog I had been in all day. Not completely but maybe I could make it to the weekend now.

“Ok,” I agree. “I’ll make something.”

As they drift off to talk to someone else Joly sits back down and places a pint of water in front of me. I hadn’t even noticed him get up.

“Dehydration can be really series,” he says with concern and under his watchful eye I drink the whole thing before being allowed to go home.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine what the school would think or Courfeyrac being on the list of adults allowed to pick up Gavroche.
> 
> I also had to include a line about Eponine stealing Marius's books, which I am convinced happens in the brick. His boots go missing, Eponine is always going through his stuff, and it mentions she is wearing a too large pair of men's boots. Let me know if you agree with this theory.
> 
> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it please let me know by leaving a comment or kudos.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an open day is attended, Enjolras has an idea, and bread is made.

**Enjolras**

It is unusually warm for January. The sun is breaking through the clouds and a light breeze teases the still bare branches of the trees. It feels like spring has arrived early.

I find a table with a sign reading “Friends of the ABC” taped to the centre. I don’t bother removing it before pulling an array of flags from my bag and arranging them like a table cloth. I then began to organise various stacks of flyers and information booklets for local organisations.

Jehan arrives wearing tie dyed dungarees and wheeling a small suitcase behind them. It contains a selection of poetry books, zines and small press comics; some for sale, some for reference and some they have printed just to give away for free. Finally they produce a couple of empty jam jars and announce they are nipping off to “borrow” some flowers to “brighten up the table”. Looking at the array of rainbows and flags I’m not sure if it’s possible for our table to be any brighter but I smile at Jehan’s finishing touches.

Glancing up I see another figure walking over, a large lunchbox box in his hands. To be honest I’m a little surprised that Grantaire has turned up like he said he would. It’s not that I don’t appreciate him volunteering, I just didn’t think this would be his scene. I stumble to my feet to greet him.

“You came then?” I ask, cringing at how that sounded like an accusation. I didn’t mean to be rude, but sometime I don’t realise how something is going to sound out loud until I say it. Luckily he just gives him a crooked smile.

“Well I could have stayed at home and eaten all of these by myself.” He taps the top of the box. “But that seemed awfully selfish.” He glances down and spots some floral patterned plates on the table. “Are they going here?” he asks.

“Er...I think so. I don’t know. Jehan went to get flowers.” Why do I feel so awkward all of a sudden? Talking to stingers at events like this is easy, standing in front of large groups of people, a piece of cake. Tying two sentences together with Grantaire and I feel like I don’t know how to faction. Luckily Grantaire’s attention is directed to taking a selection of homemade cookies out of the box and arranging them on Jehan’s plates.

“They’re all nut free and these ones are Vegan,” he indicates one of the plates. “But I can’t guarantee they are 100% nut free so best to warn anyone with a server nut allergy.”

“Er...thank you,” I manage to say, much too stiffly. “That’s very thoughtful.” Grantaire shrugs.

“I provide baking to the Musain sometimes and I do the same for them.” How do I not know that? Possibly because out of everyone, I spend the least amount of time with Grantaire and even though he has a tendency to boast about his exploits he tends to skirt around his actual skills. His art is a prime example. I didn’t even known Grantaire could draw, let alone had studied Fine Art, until I dropped something of for Eponine at the tattoo shop and she had pointed out some of his work on the wall. Baking must be another one of his hidden talents.

There was a sudden cry of excitement. “R! You made it!” Jehan runs over and throws their arms around Grantaire, a bunch of poached crocuses and snowdrops clutched in each fist.

“I only saw you two days ago,” Grantaire laughs, wrapping his arms around the poet and spinning them round.

“But not yet today,” they argue. “And these look amazing!” Jehan picks up a cookie with enormous chocolate chips and takes a bite. “Mmmmm! These might be your best batch yet!”

“Hey!” I snatch the half eaten cookie from Jehan. “Those are meant to be for the people at the open day.”

“Are you going to offer them my half eaten cookie?” Jehan asks indignantly, hands on hips.

“I guess not...” I have a sudden thought and take a bite myself, smiling at the mock horror on Jehan’s face. Wow, this is a good cookie! Grantaire really can bake. The outside is crisp but the inside is soft and chewy and still a little warm from the oven. I look to tell Grantaire but he is flicking through one of Jehan’s zines and I suddenly don’t know how to compliment him without it sounding forced so I just sit back down behind the table.

I begin to relax once the event started and people began walking past our table. I stand to one side of the table, handing out flyers to people as they pass, while Jehan engages with those who linger to find out what we’re about.

It’s well over an hour before I find a moment to sit down and take a breath. We have been much busier than I remember from previous events like this. I retrieve my water bottle from below the table and notice Grantaire talking to a girl with bright pink hair about his cookie recipe. I am just about to speak up about why we are _actually_ here when she plucks a bracelet made of threads in the colours of the pansexual pride flag from one of the baskets on the table and reaches for her purse.

“It’s so great that you’re here!” she says as she ties it on, before continuing on her way.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Grantaire declares, stands up and disappears into the crowd.

“I’m glad he came,” Jehan comments as they tidy up some of the items of their table. “He has a way of putting people at ease. I saw several people come over and take a cookie or talk to him about something that might not have come over otherwise.”

I realise Jehan is right. Grantaire has a relaxed nature which causes people to gravitate towards him. I have observed it many times at meetings where Grantaire uses it to frustrating effect to derail the agenda, but I suppose I have never stopped to think of it as a positive in other situations, such as this one.

Grantaire soon returns with a tray of drinks. He hands one to Jehan, and then holds one out to me.

“Um...sorry,” I stutter. “I don’t drink tea or coffee.”

“How about an almond milk hot chocolate?” he asks, wiggling it temptingly.

“How did you...?”

“I sometimes pay attention,” he winks. I take the cup and hold it between my cold hands, feeling the warmth spread through me. But before I have a chance to say thank you, Grantaire has returned to his seat on the other end of the table.

Grantaire frustrates me. He says that he doesn’t care and then he does things, like this, which prove that that’s just not the case. He clearly cares about his friends. When I asked for volunteers I would never in a million years have predicted Grantaire would be sat with us at our table, chatting to people about cookies and the weather, but here he is. I glance over and see he is talking to another person.

I realise that I wish there was something I could do for him. What if his ambivalence comes from him thinking there isn’t any way he can help? I begin to think of ways he might be able to use his talents for the group. Nothing comes immediately to mind but I resolve to think on it.

**Grantaire**

By the time the event begins to calm down I feet exhausted. We haven’t done more than sit and talk to people but the constant social interaction is still draining. There isn’t much left of the cookies but I box the crumbs up just the same, I know a boy who will polish them off no problem. As I am readying to leave, Enjolras turns to me. We hadn’t spoken much over the day but we had been amicably to one another for a change.

“Er...thank you for coming,” he says. My heart sinks. The words sound wooden as he says them. But I don’t want this nice day to end on a downer so I smile back as thought he is being genuine.

“No Problem. I’ll see you on Thursday I guess. Bye Jehan.” Jehan gives me a warm hug farewell.

As I walk to Eponine’s flat I have a chance to reflect on the day. I’d been nervous about going, but in the end I was glad I volunteered. It was nice to get to talk to people and spend a day with Jehan and Enjolras. The sun breaks through the clouds as it sets. I really do need to make an effort to spend more time outside too. I take a deep breath and sigh it out.

Eponine opens the door as I am still rapping out an obnoxious rhythm. “Hey, I wasn’t finished!” I protest.

“Oh I think you are,” she insists, pulling me inside so she can close the door. “Do you want my neighbours to kick us out? Me and Gav would have no choice but to move into _your_ one bedroom flat with you and you’d never have any space to yourself ever again.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I flop onto the sofa, imagining spending all my time with one of my best friends and her little brother.

“Be careful what you wish for, my friend! How was the fair?”

“It was nice.” Eponine gives me a sceptical look. “Really, it gave me a chance to get out of my head a little, you now, spend some quality time with Jehan.”

“And you and Enjolras didn’t end up causing a public scene?” she asks.

“I’ll have you know we were quite civil.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Let me hide those leftovers until after tea,” she nods towards the box I’m holding and I hand it to her. “Are you staying?”

“I might as well, if it’s no trouble.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just put more pasta in the pot.” She returns a few minutes later and places a beer by my side.

“You are a saint!” I say. Eponine is just so easy to be around. She doesn’t expect anything from you and I never feel like she’s judging me. Unlike Enjolras, I feel like he is always judging me and finding me wanting. There is no way I could ever live up to his standards. I know that line of thinking is unhealthy, but it’s a place I sometimes can’t stop my mind from going.

Eponine must recognise the look on my face because she changes the subject and stats to tell me about a client and his outrageous tattoo request. I love Eponine’s wild tattoo stories and by the time she describes the look on his face when she flat out refused to do the job I am crying with laughter, all thoughts from earlier, temporarily vanished.

*******

I hum to myself as I fold my washing and place it in piles on my bed. I don’t often have the time or energy to enjoy getting jobs done around the house, but I have found myself with a free Sunday and the sun is shining through the window. I smile and turn the stereo up. My neighbours can share my good mood too.

My phone buzzes as it receives a text. I pick it up and almost dropped it back onto the bed when I see it’s from Enjolras. Why is Enjolras texting me on a Sunday morning? When has he ever texted me out of the blue? Heart hammering I unlock the screen to read the message.

 ** _Enjolras:_** Can we meet up somewhere? I want to ask you a favour.

What could he possibly want or need from me? I sit down in a piled of clothes and typed back.

 ** _Me:_** What kind of favour ;)

I hit send before I have a chance to over think it. The wait for a reply is excruciating. Should I call Eponine? She might know how I should proceed with this but she would probably make fun of me for asking. I feel a rush of relief as my phone buzzes again, which is soon followed by a spike of anxiety.

 ** _Enjolras:_** It will be easier to explain in person. Are you free?

I consider leaving to go and meet Enjolras’s and then glance toward the kitchen. Thinking I’d have a free day I decided to bake some bread, something I haven’t has the time to do in a long time, and I can’t leave it now or it will be ruined.

 ** _Me:_** Sorry I can’t leave the flat right now.

 ** _Enjolras:_** OK. I’ll be over in 20.

The reply comes back almost instantly. Shit! What was I thinking? I stand up and look around my room. Shit! My place is a fucking mess! I hurriedly shove the cloths I had been folding into a nearby drawer and lie to myself that I’ll organise them later. I then set about making the place more presentable.

Almost 20 minutes later, on the dot, there is a knock at the door. Nervously I make my way to open it, and there stands Enjolras, looking expectant.

“Oh, er...come in,” I stutter, stepping aside for him to enter. “So what was this favour you need?”

“Well,” Enjolras begins as he takes his coat off, obviously meaning to stay. “Feuilly mentioned the ABC might not always seem approachable and that some of our posters and flyers are a little...off-putting.”

“They can be a bit intense,” I agree, I would never have stepped foot in the Musain based on _those_ posters.

“They need to be clear,” Enjolras defends them with a huff. “We don’t want people getting the wrong idea about what we are fighting for or think we don’t intend to do what needs to be done. But I see your point.”  
  
“You do?” I am somewhat taken aback to hear Enjolras agree with me. “It’s no use if people are too intimidated to come to our meetings. But people were really engaging with the zines yesterday and I thought it might be time for a re-design. Maybe we could add some illustrations or colour.”  
  
I begin to catch on to where this is going and I back up slightly. Once people knew you’re halfway decent at drawing it is only a matter of time before they started to ask you to design their logo or draw a portrait of their cat. But I already know resistance is useless. Enjolras is standing in my hallway, and I know I will do literally anything he asks of me. God, I hate myself sometimes.

“Wouldn’t Jehan be better at this?” I ask, searching for an escape.

“I love Jehan but we need something direct, unambiguous.”

“Good point,” I admit. “I guess I‘ll go and grab a sketchbook and we can jot down some ideas.” I resign myself to my fate and go to fetch some things while Enjolras sits down at the small kitchen table that doubles as a desk. He pulls his laptop out of his battered satchel. Well there goes my peaceful Sunday. I gather together pens, pencils and a sketchbook.

As I come backing into the kitchen, my phone starts beeping. Enjolras looks up from his laptop.

“It’s just an alarm,” I explain, re-setting it and moving over to the radiator where a towel is draped to trap the heat and create a warm space beneath. With some care I lift out a large mixing bowl from inside and place it on the kitchen counter.

“What’s that?” Enjolras asks, probably wondering what was interrupting the task at hand.

“The reason I couldn’t go out today. I’m making sourdough.”

“Like the bread?”

“Yes, the bread.”

“Are you about to put it in the oven? Is it ready?” Enjolras asked.

“No,” I can’t help laughing at the thought that it was done. “It won’t be ready to be cooked until tomorrow. It’s a long process.” I run my hand under the tap to wet it.

“So what are you doing now?” Enjolras has stood up and come to see.

“I’m stretching the dough.” I remove the cloth covering the bowl to reveal a mass of dough, some large bubbles already starting to form around the edge. With my wet hand I reach in and scoop up a handful, pull it high and stretch it across to the other side of the bowl. I spin the bowl and repeat this three times until the dough forms a tight dome in the centre of the bowl.

“It looks so soft,” Enjolras remarks with some surprise.

“It’s a lot wetter than regular dough, so you don’t knead it.” I wash my hands off and place the cloth back across the bowl. “That should do it for another 30 minutes.” I placed it back in its warm home by the radiator.

“How long does it take?” Enjolras asks, seeming genuinely interested.

“A couple of days all together. It’s slower because it uses a live starter or wild yeast. Do you want to see her?”

“Her?”

I feel my face grow warm and look away. “Erm, my starter. She’s called Persephone.” I lift a jar from the kitchen counter. It contains a gooey, bubbly dough-like substance.

“She’s about 6 months old now.”

“And you just keep it in your kitchen? Is that hygienic?”

“She doesn’t go off. She’s more like having a pet. I feed her and she bubbles away and helps me make bread.” Enjolras is looking at me oddly. Great, now he thinks I’m crazy. Good job I haven’t revealed how I talk to Persephone and gave her daily encouragements to grow big and strong.

“So what did you have in mind?” I ask, sitting down at the table and fishing some markers out of my pencil case. “Death to the cis hets with a graphic depiction of a guillotine? Extra attention to the blood?” That startles a laugh from him.

“As amusing as that sounds, perhaps something less provocative?”

I place a hand over my heart in mock horror. “I never thought I’d see the day Enjolras took the gentle approach.”

“Well neither was I thinking of sunshine and unicorns.”

“Ah, a centrist approach then.” This is met by one of Enjolras withering glairs. Luckily for me I have built up a high tolerance to these over the years and now collect them like victory points. “Or...you can tell me what you had in mind.” I turn the pad to a clean page. Winding up Enjolras is one of my favourite hobbies after all.

Enjolras lays out some of the ABC’s old posters and explains some of his ideas. I am sketching out some rough designs when my phone beeps again.

“Hey, do you want to give it a go?” I ask as I fetch the dough.

“No, I’ll mess it up. I’m useless in the kitchen!”

“You can’t mess this up. I’ll show you.” I would never admit it, but I’m enjoying seeing Enjolras unsure and nervous.

“Um...OK, what do I do?”

“First run your hand under the tap, then you just scoop up a handful, pull it up and stretch it across.” I demonstrate as I explained and then step aside, inviting Enjolras to give it a go.

Frowning with determination Enjolras jams his fingers into the bowl but instantly jumps back as soon as he feels the dough. “It’s so soft and...warm,” he exclaims in surprise.

“What were you expecting,” I laugh. “Give it another go.” He tries again and this time manages to complete the fold. I congratulate him and spin the bowl so he can have another go, this time he doesn’t hesitate and things go smoother.

“I’m sorry if I just ruined your bead,” Enjolras insists as he washes his hands. As I dry my own on a tea towel by the sink he notices something on my wrist. “Is that one of Feuilly’s?”

I glance down at the small braid of blue, pink and white thread tied to my wrist. The edges are frayed and the white is closer to grey now. I shrug and turn to put the bowl away.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “I said how I liked theirs when I first started coming to meetings and so they made me one. I’ve never taken it off so it’s gotten a bit ratty.” I pluck at it absentmindedly, noticing how the ends have frayed together. I suppose at this point the only way to be free of it would be to cut it away, but I can’t imagine doing that. I like the sense of belonging it gives me both to the group and to myself. I look up and find Enjolras still watching me. “So shall we get back to work,” I ask, taking my seat again.

We continue to work on the posters, occasionally stopping to tend to the bread. Eventually a different alarm sounded on my phone. I turn it off and am struck by a sudden idea. “It’s time to shape the loaves. You should do one.”

“What?” Enjolras asks, looking up from his laptop where he’s been lost in something.

“It will be fun,” I insist with an innocent smile and watch as Enjolras finally gives in. I begin to flour the work surface. “The thing to remember is to be confident. The dough can sense your fear. You don’t need to be fast but don’t hesitate either.” There is a cute crease between Enjolras’s sculpted brows. Before I can give myself away I pour the super sticky dough onto the counter using a plastic scraper to get it out of the bowl. It is like a lump of elastic goo and a devil to handle but I’m not about to tell Enjolras that. I divide it into two so that we both have a piece to work with.

I demonstrated how to use the scraper to pull in the corners and turn it over to produce a perfect round dome of dough. “Now your turn.”

Enjolras picks up the scraper and only hesitates for a moment before attempting to copy my example. He manages the first two folds ok but as he attempts the third they began to merge together. He quickly grabs at it with his hand. I bite my lip and cover my mouth to stop myself from commenting as I watch Enjolras’s fingers get sucked into the dough the more he fights to gain back control until he has no choice but to try and reclaim his hand from the ooze which has claimed it with his other hand. I laugh as it gets worse the more he fights. Am I crewel for setting Enjolras up for failure by insisting this was easy? Maybe a little, but I am enjoying watching him flounder for once.

“You set me up! You made it look so easy!”

“Come here, I’ll fix it for you.” I step forward with the scarper and began to free Enjolras’s fingers. I try desperately to ignore the fact that I’m touching his hands, even if they are covered in bread dough.

“And now I’ve ruined it.” He sounds genuinely upset. Now I begin to feel guilty. Maybe I had gotten a little carried away once I had found a way to getting one up on him for once.

“It will be fine,” I sooth. I reshaped it and in no time it resembles the other tight ball of dough. When I glace back at Enjolras I laughed again.

“You have flour on your nose,” I observe. Enjolras reaches up to try and wipe it away. “Stop you’re making it worse.” I quickly stepped forward with a tea towel and wiped it across Enjolras’s face. It is only as I pull it away that I noticed how close we are standing and freeze. For a second we both hold our ground. There is a strange look on Enjolras’s face.

I quickly turn away and busy myself pulling the proving baskets out of the cupboard and flouring them, my cheeks still embarrassingly flushed. But my thoughts are halted by Enjolras’s worried voice.

“They’re shrinking, see, I told you that you shouldn’t have asked me to help!”

“It’s fine, they just need to rest for a minute. The second step is easier, trust me.”

Enjolras approaches it with some trepidation this time but appears to find the dough more cooperative and with more flour and my guidance is able to fold and roll the bread into a smooth round shape. He steps back from the bench, satisfaction written across his face. Finally I cradle the loaves into baskets and put them in the fridge.

“Now they go away for 12 to 24 hours, I’ll bake them tomorrow” I moved back to the table as Enjolras washes his hands. “So what do you think of these designs?” I hold up the sketchbook.

“That’s prefect!” He exclaims. “Can I take them to show Combeferre and Courfeyrac?”

I lean against the door once he has left wondering what just happened. That definitely wasn’t the day I had planned. I begin to replay all the things I said and did, checking to see if I made a fool of myself or not. But then I remember the look on Enjolras’s face as he struggled with the dough, the flour on his cheek from where he must have touched it without realising. I shake my head, that line of thought wasn’t going to get me anywhere either. I heave myself up and go to clean the mess we made of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took up baking sourdough while writing this and before I knew it this scene was happening. I hope it wasn't too self indulgent, I swear I had to cut 90% which was just a detailed description of the process of making sourdough.
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos make my day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Enjolras**

I am sat at a table in the Musain with Courfeyrac on Monday evening when I feel a gust of cold air from the door opening. I glance up and am surprised to see Grantaire enter. He glances around the room and smiles when he spots us and makes his way over to our table.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and curse myself again. I seem incapable of asking him a question which doesn’t sound like an accusation.

“I thought you might like this,” he says, passing me the tote bag he has on his shoulder. I reach inside and pull out a loaf of bread. It is wrapped in foil and still warm to the touch. I unwrap a corner. It’s deep brown crust is cracked in places with a rough cross cut across the top. The scent is so strong I can already smell it and I feel my mouth begin to water. I look back up at Grantaire, slightly puzzled.

“It’s the loaf you shaped yesterday. See, you didn’t ruin it. Anyway, I’d better get going, I’m meeting Bahorel at the gym. Enjoy.” He waves and heads to the door. Belatedly I realise that I didn’t say thank you. I make a mental note to do so later.

“So, are you going to explain why you are now holding a loaf of bread?” Courfeyrac asks, a mischievous smirk on this face. “Or why Grantaire brought it to you?”

“I don’t really know myself,” I reply.

**Grantaire**

“You are never going to believe who turned up at my flat yesterday,” I wipe sweat from my face and reach for my water bottle.

“Dude, I’m not playing this game. If you want to tell me, just tell me.”

I throw my towel at Bahorel’s face to shut him up. “It was Enjolras.”

“Enjolras? Did you let him leave, or is he still locked in your basement?” Maybe confiding in Bahorel hadn’t been wise.

“My flat doesn’t have a basement.”

Bahorel slaps me on the shoulder. “I don’t hear a denial,” he laughs.

“He wanted me to design some posters for the ABC.”

“Oh shit! Nice going.”

I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. “Something like that. You know, we worked all afternoon like that was perfectly normal. But don’t worry, I’m not going to get ahead of myself and think this is the new norm.”

“Sure,” Bahorel says with a smirk. I punch him on the arm. “But seriously, don’t be so hard on yourself.” We pick up our things and make our way to the changing rooms but I remain quiet. Bahorel sighs. “What? Is there more to it than just making posters?”

I sit down heavily on a bench and rest my head in my hands. “I don’t know,” I admit. “It was different, nice.” I smile to myself, remembering how easy it had felt to work together. “I’m definitely reading too much into it. I’m just seeing what I want to see. We’re barely friends, never mind something more. And when have you ever known Enjolras to like _anyone_ as more than a friend?”

“He loves his friend more than it seems possible.”

“You know what I mean.”

There is a prolonged silence. Eventually Bahorel replies. “He can be so focused on his cause that he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Give him some time and see what happens.”

“Wow, was that some actual advice?”

“What? Must have been a momentary lapse of sanity,” Bahorel smiles at me. “I must just be hungry. Want to grab a burger?”

“Hell yeah!”

Our post workout burger routine probably cancels out any work we do at the guy, but they are good for the soul. I kick off my shoes and flop down on my bed, pulling my phone out. I notice I have an unread text from Enjolras. It must have arrived while we were eating.

 ** _Enjolras:_** I forgot to say thank you earlier. This bread is amazing.

Another grin spreads across my face.

 ** _Me:_** You still haven’t said it you know. Also, it’s even better toasted.

 ** _Enjolras:_** Thank you!

I am scrolling through Netflix for something to watch when my phone pings again.

 ** _Enjolras:_** OMG! My life is forever changed. You have ruined all other bread for me.

 ** _Me:_** Then my work here is done.

 ** _Enjolras:_** What are you doing tomorrow night?

 ** _Me:_** Um, nothing really, why?

 ** _Enjolras:_** I’m going to a film screening and I have a spare ticket. Do you want to come with me?

 ** _Me:_** Sure, why not.

 ** _Enjolras:_** I’ll pick you up at 7pm.

 ** _Me:_** OK, see you tomorrow ;)

As soon as I hit send I let out a long groan. I am so fucked!

**Enjolras**

“So you found someone to go with?” Combeferre remarks as I emerge from my room, carrying my jacket. “Sorry that I got called into work.”

“Yeah, I’m taking Grantaire.” The look on Combeferre’s face makes me pause in my steps.

“You are?” He asks.

“Why, is that weird?” When Combeferre had said he couldn’t make it I had automatically through of taking Grantaire and hadn’t spared it another thought.

“No, not at all. Let me know what I missed.”

Was it odd that I had invited Grantaire? We haven’t spent much time together before, but after the weekend it had seemed natural to invite him to come. After all it was a film about a political artist who had been jailed for his controversial art and the movement that had lead to his release. If nothing else, I thought Grantaire would appreciate the art.

I meet Grantaire, where he is already standing outside his door. We don’t speak much on our walk to the cinema, other than Grantaire asking about the film we are going to see. Combeferre’s comment has made me feel awkward about my choice and Grantaire remains uncharacteristically quiet.

The screening is in a small art house cinema and we are amongst only a few people who appear to have shown up to see it on a Tuesday evening. However, the cinema has a cosy atmosphere. Soft piano music plays in the background and there are some well worn sofas in the foyer next to a small bar.

“Do you want a drink?” Grantaire asks.

“No, I’m fine,” I reply, because I would never usually have gotten one, before wondering if my answer had been rude.

“Well I’m getting one,” he announces and proceeds to order a glass of wine from the bar. We then make our way into the auditorium and take our seats.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” Grantaire muses, glancing around. I find myself watching him at a loss as to what to say next.

“Jehan did a poetry event here once,” I finally remember. “But the piece they performed wasn’t quite what he organisers had imagined. You should have seen their faces when they realised they were calling out the transphobic biases present in their own organisation.”

Grantaire grins and I feel a little wave of relief as the tension between us melts a little. “I wish I could have seen that! They are one brave fucker!” I laugh in surprise at his remark.

“Utterly fearless,” I agree. “It was Jehan who suggested this movie.”

“So why didn’t you invite them along tonight?” The question trips me up a little.

“I think they saw it last week. And anyway, I owe you a thank you for the bread.”Grantaire merely nods and we are saved from further awkwardness by the lights dimming and the movie starting.

It turns out to be a really interesting movie, not that I have any reason to doubt Jehan’s recommendations, which from experience I know are always spot on. I find myself drawn in instantly and almost forget there is anyone else in the room. All my attention is on the screen.

About half an hour in I am distracted by something brushing my leg. I glance down in the dark and see that it is Grantaire’s knee. My first instinct is to draw away. I’m not used to physical touch and it has a tendency to make me feel uncomfortable. But for some reason I stay still. It feels kind of nice, being close to someone and being able to feel them there. So I just return most of my attention to the screen while a part of it remains of the small connection with Grantaire.

**Grantaire**

I can’t concentrate on the movie, not sat in a dark room so close to Enjolras. I finished my glass of wine much too quickly and wish I could go and get another one to calm my nerves, but Enjolras would probably disapprove of someone skipping out to get another drink.

I shift in my seat and freeze when my knee bumps against Enjolras’s leg. My heart is hammering in my chest but Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice. I should probably more it away but instead I leave it, resting gently against Enjolras. I am hyper aware that I can feel the warmth of this skin against my own, separated only by denim.

After the first initial shock I find the touch comforting and I begin to nod off in my seat. Perhaps going to see a move after a restless night hadn’t been such a good idea. The next think I know I am blinking awake as the lights come on. Shit! Had I really just slept through the whole thing? I glance to the side and see Enjolras glaring at me.

“Was it really that boring?” He asks.

“What? No!” I straighten up in my seat. “Sorry, I’ve just been really tired. Did I miss it all?” Enjolras’s expression softens.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” he asks.

I don’t really want to talk about it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I insist. “Do you want to go and get some pizza? There’s a great place round the corner and you can fill me in on what I missed.”

Enjolras agrees and soon we are both seated in a tiny pizza place only a couple of streets away from the cinema. The restaurant is so tiny it barely qualifies and looks like a normal residents to anyone not in the know. Its interior may be old and shabby but it serves up some of the best pizza in the city. I order a few different slices and we sit by the window to share them and watch the people as they pass.

Enjolras is soon filling me in on the content of the film as well as his opinions on the subjects it had covered, while I am all too happy to sit back and listen. With Enjolras, there is no such thing as a casual interest in something, either it is unworthy of this notice or he is drawn to it with a passion. I begin to wonder where I fall on that scale but quickly shift my attention back to what he is saying.

“I guess I’d never really stopped to think about what an impact art could have politically,” he is saying.

“Does it always have to be political?” I interrupt.

“Everything is political.”

“Oh and don’t I know it, but can’t we just let art be an escape sometimes? Why does it always have to make a statement? Can’t the process be enough, or the enjoyment of looking at a painting you like? You have to admit there’s a radical quality to just allowing the escape.”

“But that’s wasting its potential!” Enjolras argues, pushing on with his thoughts. “It’s capable of so much more than just being a pretty picture. That’s superficial, it’s meaningless, when compared with real action. We owe it to ourselves, to everyone, to always be striving for better.”

“Am I wasting _my_ potential?” I ask suddenly. The conversation dies as Enjolras looks at me in surprise. “This is why I dropped out of art school.”

“Why?” he asks, fixing me with that intent gaze I always buckle under.

“There was too much pressure for everything to have meaning. But I had enough on my mind, and couldn’t always come up with some great profound meaning to everything I made. I wanted to escape, get lost in the feel of paint scraping across canvas or clay between my hands. I got sick of writing bullshit essays about the meaning behind pieces I had made simply for the enjoyment of making them. So I quit.”

Enjolras looks cornered. We have had disagreements before, but this is the most personal they have ever been. “But you still paint,” he finally says. “And draw, and bake.”

“I don’t do that for _them_ anymore. I do it for myself and if other people like it, that’s a bonus.”

“So, er, why do you paint?” he asks.

I don’t know if anyone has ever asked me that before. It’s just always been something I did. I pause for a moment, thinking for a good reply. “I guess I find it relaxing or at least a distraction, an escape from having to think about reality too much. I like the process of it, the feel. If I start a painting a whole day can go by without me noticing but I know I lived it because I have the painting as proof. But I suppose under your logic it’s a waste of time.”

“No!” Enjolras says quickly, and with some force. “That not a waste of time.”

I feel something soften in my chest at Enjolras’s heartfelt words. I have spent years building walls around myself, disguising my insecurities with bravado and convincing everyone, and myself included, that I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, but one sincere compliment and I feel them all crumple away.

Enjolras suddenly looks away, uncomfortable, like he isn’t sure if he has said the right thing. If only I could tell him he has said the perfect thing. But before I can say anything he nods to himself and suddenly gets to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” is all he says as he leaves the restaurant.

I sit staring out of the window, so many emotions surging inside of me. Usually I would make a joke to cut the tension, or deflect from my feelings, but there is no one here to make a joke to. I am alone and feeling raw, utterly exposed. I pick at one of the left over slices of pizza.

I am startled out of my thoughts by Enjolras returning. He sits back down at the table and places a takeaway tray between us. At his insistence I open it to find a large slice of chocolate fudge cake and two forks. I reach for one of them and smile.

“You know, you’re not so bad when you don’t have a revolution to run,” I smirk, licking icing off the plastic fork.

“You’re not so bad then you’re not interrupting my speeches,” Enjolras counters, but I can tell by his smile that he is joking. I begin to realise that I shouldn’t always take everything Enjolras says at face value.

“You’d be bored without me and you know it!” I say, feeling bolder.

“Yes, I would” Enjolras admits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that I studied Fine Art at university? Also, the film they go to see isn't based on any particular film, I just thought the concept would work within the story.
> 
> I think I'm going to aim for posting another chapter tomorrow but then I am going to be back in work full time for 2 weeks so there might be a little break in updates but don't worry, i will still be writing when I can. I have this whole story all planned out and I am further ahead than I am posting.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plants are nurtured and birds are freed.

**Grantaire**

Thursday rolls around much too soon and I find myself arriving at the Musain early. I know Enjolras has a tendency to show up before anyone else, but when I push the door open at the top of the stairs I don’t find Enjolras. Instead Jehan is stood in front of one of the windows, watering can in hand, tending to one of the numerous pot plants which reside there.

“Oh, hi,” they greet me with a glance over their shoulder.

“Hi,” I reply, and dump myself on one of the chairs. “No one else here yet?”

“Just me so far, but if you like you can help me with the watering.” Jehan gestures to another watering can set on a nearby table. Obediently I pick it up and start watering the plants on the other side of the room. After a while I realise we have fallen into an uncharacteristic silence. I turn around to find Jehan watching me.

“What’s on your mind?” they ask. This only further confirms my suspicion that Jehan might be a witch. They have a knack of picking up on people’s feelings.

“Enjolras,” I admit, turning back to the plants so I won’t have to see Jehan’s expression.

“Anything new?” Jehan asks, their tone light and teasing, but also inviting.

“Saturday he showed up at my flat, with hardly any warning, and then we spent all afternoon working together on a project. Then on Monday he took me to see a film.”

“The one about the artist that I recommended to him?” Jehan asks.

“That’s the one. I fell asleep but Enjolras seemed to enjoy it.”

Jehan laughs to themself. “That is unprecedented behaviour,” they agree. “But I thought you’d be happy of the chance to spend some time with him. Shouldn’t you be bouncing off the walls with excitement while I tell you it was always meant to be?” Jehan had a way of making everything sound romantic but I know nothing’s that simple.

“I guess I’m just a little confused. One week ago if you’d told me I was going to be enjoying some quality time with Enjolras I would have laughed in your face and asked from some of whatever you were smoking.”

“And now?”

I move to the next windowsill, still thinking. “I don’t know. It’s been great. Not how I imagined it, but in a good way. I know I have a tendency to idolise him, but getting to spend some time with him has meant I feel like I’ve only just met him. I’m only just starting to learn who the real Enjolras is behind all the ideas and drive.”

“And do you like the person you’re getting to know?” Jehan asks. They have come across to the same windowsill so we’re not having this conversation across the whole room. I should probably stop talking; after all Jehan’s a mutual friend of both of us. But it feels so good to get my feelings off my chest, and Jehan has a way of listening that makes you know they truly care. “Does this Enjolras compare to the one you thought you knew?”

“I don’t really think it’s fair to compare them, one is a crush, an infatuation, the other in a real person, with all the complexity that brings. And I really want to know him, but for all I know this is all purely coincidental and next week Combeferre won’t be so busy at work and he won’t call me. I’m probably just setting myself up for a fall even entertaining the notion of there being anything mutual between us. What I feel for him has always been one sided, I need to stop fantasising about him ever reciprocating it.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder and fall silent. Jehan reaches for the watering can and plucks it out of my clenched fingers. “Either you need to ask him, or be patient and see what happens naturally. Enjolras can be so focused that he is oblivious to what’s going on around him. He might just need a nudge in the right direction to make him see why he has been choosing to spend more time with you.”

I nod. Jehan is always right about these sorts of things. I think about confronting Enjolras more directly but I don’t want to ruin this past week. I have really enjoyed the time we have spent together and hope that there might be more to come.

“Take care of yourself, but also, allow yourself to enjoy this. Don’t over think it.” They lean forward and kiss me on the forehead. “Let’s finish here before the other’s show up.” They pass the watering can back to me and go back to work. I turn back to the plants too, feeling unusually calm. Jehan can have that effect on you.

**Enjolras**

I enter the meeting room to find Grantaire helping Jehan to water the plants. The sight of Grantaire tending to them alongside Jehan makes my stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

“You’re here early,” I hear myself remark as I set my bag down.

“Well I had some time to kill,” he replies, watering can in hand.

I’m doing it again, pushing him away without realising, but I think I can make up for it this time. I put down the heavy box I am carrying on a nearby table and open it to reveal the flyers with Grantaire’s design on them which I have just been to collect from the printers.

“Hot off the press,” I say. “They came out really well.” I hold one out for him to take.

He holds it loosely in his hands and studies it. “I only did the initial sketches,” he shrugs. “It was Feuilly who finished them off.” Before I can say something to contradict him, Jehan comes over to see what we are gathered around. They look over Grantaire’s shoulder at the one he is holding.

“Oh, they look great!” They exclaim and hug Grantaire from behind. “Can I have one?”

“Have as many as you like and pass them on,” I say, offering the box. They take a handful.

“We should put them on all the tables so that people see them when they arrive.” As Jehan lays out the flyers in pride of place at the centre of every table I take a tentative step closer to Grantaire.

“So, have you done any painting recently?” I ask. Grantaire frowns at me.

“Yeah, actually, I’ve been working on a new one, but since when do you ask me about painting?” He folds his arms across his chest, defensively.

“Am I not allowed to?” I ask. “I’m just interested, and a little curious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of your paintings.” Since out conversation about art on Tuesday night I’ve been wondering what Grantaire’s paintings look like. I have a feeling they are more abstract than realistic, based on how he described enjoying the feel of the process. I imagine him choosing a colour based entirely on instinct and sweeping it across the canvas, feeling the texture of the cloth beneath his brush. I want to know if I have imagined correctly.

“If I’d known you were so interested I could have shown you some on Sunday. Most of them are just stacked up in my bedroom gathering dust.”

“That’s not right,” I say without thinking. “After you’ve put all that work in to them. Shouldn’t they be hanging up or something?”

“That’s nice of you to say but people are less interested in them than my drawings, those are much easier to sell. I can’t shift the paintings and it’s only a matter of time before I run out of storage space.”

“Maybe you could sell some here,” I suggest. “They hang art by local artists.”

“It’s OK, honestly,” he shrugs, “I’m ok with it, really. Like I said, I do it because I enjoy it.” I find it really hard to let go of this. I can’t stand the idea of Grantaire’s work, with passion, just gathering dust in his flat.

But Grantaire is saved from more of my suggestions by the arrival of our friends, all eager to talk to him about the new flyers.

The meeting gets underway, but as I stand at the front of the room my eyes keep drifting to Grantaire. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention but I know he’ll be listening, he always is. I wander if he’s drawing or doodling, but then I notice he’s folding something instead.

I lose track of what I’m saying and pause to collect myself. I finish up and as Combeferre is reading out the next item on the agenda I find my gaze wandering back across the room. Grantaire is folding something over and over again. He sets it aside and I realise it’s an origami crane and there is already a stack of them on the table in front of him. Wait, is he folding the new flyers? I fall silent again, mind halting as I watch Grantaire turning flyers into birds.

Absentmindedly I realise everyone is watching me. Courfeyrac has stood up to ask if I’m alright. Finally Grantaire looks up and I see concern on his face. I have a sudden idea.

“Marius,” I say, turning to my left. “Why don’t you take it from here? You’ve got this.” I don’t wait for him to stand up before I walk across the room to Grantaire’s table. He looks like he’s about to say something in his defence but before he can I sweep the birds off the table into my arms and head out of the door.

**Grantaire**

I let my chair fall back onto four legs as I watch Enjolras leave the room, dumbfounded by what has just happened. I hadn’t really been aware of what I was doing, just wanting something to do with my hands while I listened to the meeting. The flyers had been sat right there and my fidgeting had pulled some towards me.

I look around and see that half the room are looking at the door and the others at Marius who is stuttering something quietly while Combeferre stands at his side.

“Do I just fuck up?” I ask Bossuet.

“Why don’t you go and see,” he suggests.

With some trepidation I stand up and make to follow Enjolras. I wander how far he’s gone but I find him stood at the bottom of the steps, hands empty. I suppose he’s thrown them away, but as I come to stand by his side he doesn’t look angry. His arms are folded across his chest and he is regarding the room with a sense of satisfaction.

When he sees me, his smile turns into a grin. “Look around,” he says. I do, but don’t know what I’m looking for. I say as much. He points to one of the tables and I spot it. One of the origami cranes peeps out of the sugar pot. I look at another table and see one perches in a pot plant. At another a couple have picked one up and unfolded it to read.

“They needed setting free,” he says.

I smile and shake my head. That is the most whimsical thing I have ever witnessed him doing. I always thought of him as being practical 100% of the time, but I guess I was wrong.

“You know, Cosette would say you should take a picture for the intagram.”

“You’re right,” he agrees and pulls his phone out of his pocket to snap a few quick photos.

“So,” I say, after watching him move around the tables like a strange ammeter bird watcher. “Do you think it’s about time you went back upstairs and rescued Marius?”

“I’m sure he has everything under control.” There is a loud thump from upstairs followed by a few startled cries.

“I’m sure,” I say.

***

I can’t sleep again. I felt exhausted all day but as soon as I laid down I felt wide awake and now my legs ache and I can’t get comfortable and I swear if I turn over again...! With a sigh I accept defeat and reach for my phone, squinting against the glare of the screen.

I open instagram and scroll through people’s posts. I leave some likes on some of Feuilly’s and then I come across the photos that Enjolras had taken earlier. They don’t look bad and they have quite a few likes and comments already. I smile and have an idea. I open my texts.

 ** _Me:_** Whatcha doing?

**Enjolras**

I am sat at the desk in my room, typing on my laptop. I know it’s a bad idea to work after a meeting, but I just need to get this idea down before I forgot. I look at the clock and rub my eyes. How is it 1am already? I should probably call it a night or Combeferre will give me another talking to about the importance of sleep hygiene.

My phone buzzes. I wonder who could be messaging me at this time. I unlock the screen and see that it’s from Grantaire. I would have thought everyone would be asleep by now.

 ** _Grantaire:_** Whatcha doing?

 ** _Me:_** Working.

I send back my reply quickly, turning back to my essay.

 ** _Grantaire:_** You should be in bed.

 ** _Me:_** Well so should you.

 ** _Grantaire:_** I am ;)

I laugh and hope Combeferre doesn’t hear.

 ** _Me:_** Then why aren’t you asleep?

I watch the three dots bouncing, indicating that he is typing a response but then they pause. I had expected another quick, witty retort. He’s typing again.

 ** _Grantaire:_** I can’t sleep.

I hadn’t expected a direct answer. I also don’t know what to suggest.

 ** _Me:_** Do you want to talk?

My phone begins to wring.

“Hi,” Grantaire says when I answer.

“Hi,” I reply and then don’t know what else to say.

“Do you ever sleep,” he asks, breaking the silence.

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” I reply, only somewhat seriously.

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” he laughs. “I wander what Joly would have to say if I told him that’s how you’re living your life.”

“You wouldn’t!” I say in mock outrage.

“Wouldn’t I?” I consider that for a moment. I find it really hard to know when Grantaire’s joking and when he’s being deadly serious. “You’re not a god, Apollo, no matter how much you resemble one. Mortals need sleep.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that?”

“A god?”

“I’m not infallible.”

“And they weren’t? Have you ever read the classics, Apollo? Those gods made more mistakes than the humans in those stories. But I suppose if they’re not found in the law library you’re not interested.”

“I have interests,” I defend.

“Really, name on other than bringing about the revolution.”

I pause, my mind going blank as soon as Grantaire poses the question. I hear him laughing on the other end of the phone.

“You shouldn’t have to think so hard to come up with _one_ hobby.”

“I like reading!” I quickly say in my defence.

“Reading the news doesn’t count as a hobby!”

“I like science fiction.”

“You do? Since when? I’ve never heard you talk about Star Wars at a meeting.”

“I’ve been friends with Combeferre for years and he recommends books to me.”

“Like...?”

“Fine, if you don’t believe me! I’ve read Ursula Le Guin, Octavia Butler, N. K. Jemisin, Ann Leckie, Yoon Ha Lee, do you want to check my book case to make sure I’m telling the truth?”

“No, but I might be asking Combeferre for some book recommendations in the future.”

“You should, he’s read a lot of great stuff.”

“So are you going to turn in soon?”

“Yeah, I was thinking I should. I don’t think I can write much else tonight.”

“Good,” he says, sounding a little sleepier than he had earlier. I put my phone down on the bed, on speaker, and begin to change into my pyjamas.

“Ok, I’m going to bed, happy now?”

“Very,” he signs. I imagine him stretching out and leaning back against his pillows, eyes closed as he talks on the phone.

“I’m just going to the bathroom, be back in a minute.” I brush my teeth and check that I haven’t disturbed Combeferre before returning to my room. I pick my phone back up and turn the lights out. “Are you still there?” I ask, as I climb into bed and draw the covers up over myself.

“Only just,” he replies quietly.

I smile, hearing his soft breathing against my ear. “Night, Grantaire,” I say.

“Night.”

I hang up and place my phone on the nightstand. I drift off to sleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I read another fic where Combeferre recommends Sci Fi books to Enjolras and the idea has stuck in my head so when I needed him to have a hobby that's what came to mind. If I can find the fic I will link it here, I don't want to take credit for someones excellent idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Mentions of depression (but not explicitly)

**Enjolras**

I don’t know how it happens but after that we fall into a habit of texting each other. I find myself looking forward to the ping of my phone and when I have a random thought the first person I think to send it to is Grantaire. However, by Monday I notice that his replies are coming slower. He also stops initiating messages and his replies become short. Then on Tuesday, no replies come at all. I shoot a text to Grantaire with something I think he’ll find funny. There is no response. I wonder if I said anything to offend him, but when I scroll back though our conversations I can’t see anything, in fact it is surprisingly free of any real conflict.

I send a text to Eponine.

 ** _Me_** : Have you heard from Grantaire today? He isn’t replying to my messages.

 ** _Eponine:_** No I haven’t. But I wouldn’t read too much into it. Sometimes he just needs a moment, he’ll reply when he’s up to it.

I frown, wondering what she means by that. I assume she’s implying it isn’t down to anything I’ve done but I don’t like the thought of Grantaire going through something by himself. I begin to pull on my shoes.

“Are you going somewhere?” Combeferre asks, pausing in my doorway. “Because if you are, we could do with some milk.”

“Um, I think I’m going over to see Grantaire.”

“About more flyers?” He asks.

“No, I just want to make sure he’s ok”

***

Before I have thought it through I find myself stood in the pelting rain on Grantaire’s doorstep, a carrier bag from the local Chinese takeaway held in one hand as I knock on the door with the other.

There is no answer. I look at the window and see a light on behind the curtains.

“Grantaire, it’s me,” I shout though the door in case Grantaire didn’t see the text I’d sent to say I was heading over. There is still no reply. I sigh and knock again. “I’m not going away,” I call. My mind is focused and so I don’t notice the cold rain soaking through my hair and jacket.

Finally I hear movement behind the door. “You should go home,” comes his reply. “I’m not going to be good company right now.”

“I don’t mind, I brought you some food.”

“I have food. Seriously, you’re going to get ill standing out in the rain.”

“Then you’ll have to let me in, because I’m not going home.”

There is a long pause, then finally the sound of the latch being opened. The door opens and I step out of the rain. Grantaire is stood in the hallway in his pyjamas, a blanket draped around his shoulders. His hair is a tangled mess, there are dark circles under his eyes and several days of stubble on his cheeks.

“Why don’t I get us some plates for this,” I hold up the take away bag, “and you go back to your room. I’ll bring it through.” I find it impossible to find anything clean in the kitchen, which is littered with plates and bowls and empty bottles. I run some water into the sink and move the empty bottles into the recycling. I wash up a couple of plated and forks, fill two glasses with water and place them on a tray to carry through to Grantaire’s room. Grantaire’s apartment doesn’t have a living area. His kitchen has a large table in its centre which doubled as a work space for Grantaire so he has set up his TV in his bedroom. He tends to go out to socialise and it’s rare for him to invite people back to his flat. It occurs to me that I have always invited myself here.

Grantaire is slumped on his bed in the corner against the wall, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread in the blankets. I place the tray on the bed and begin to open the bag. The smell of sweet and sour and chow mein suddenly fill the room. Grantaire glances up.

“You’re all wet,” he finally says.

“It was raining outside.” I shrug.

“There are some pyjamas in that bottom draw, if you want something dry to wear. They’re clean.”

“OK, why don’t you choose something on Netflix while I change and then we can eat and watch TV, we don’t have to talk or anything, I’ll just keep you company.”

I change quickly in the bathroom but when I return, Grantaire is still helplessly scrolling through Netflix, too overwhelmed to choose. “Shall I?” I hold out my hand for the remote. He passes it over. I quickly settle on Schitt’s Creek when I see that his is halfway though season 2 and dish some food onto a plate for him. Then we sit and eat and watch.

I try to fix my attention on the TV but I keep steeling glances at Grantaire. He is quiet and every now and then I noticed a ghost of a smile twist his lips. That’s good. I’m happy to be here for him in whatever small way I can be.

As one episode becomes two and three and so on I find some pillows and prop myself up against the wall and Grantaire snuggles down into the blankets once again. It is easy and comfortable to just sit and watch TV together.

“Do you want some ice cream?” Grantaire asks.

“Sure,” I say.

Grantaire finally smiles. He unbundles himself and goes to the kitchen. “How is Persephone doing?” I called.

“She’s just napping in the fridge at the moment,” He replies from the kitchen. “Haven’t been in the mood to bake recently.”

“Perhaps next week,” I encourage.

“Perhaps.”

He soon returns, not with a couple of bowls like I had expected, but with the ice cream tub and two spoons. As he curls back into his blanket nest his t shit rises up slightly and I catch a glimpse ink running across his skin. I look away instantly, heat rising in my face, wondering how extensive Grantaire’s tattoos are. He already has quite a collection on his arms and I had never stopped to wonder if it stopped there.

“Are you ok?” Grantaire asks. I freeze, feeling like I have been caught staring like a total creep.

“Sorry,” I manage. “Your tattoos...” I stop again, realising that clarifying that detail isn’t going to improve matters.

“What about them?” He asks, looking down at his own arms.

“I guess I just never properly noticed them before.”

Now it’s Grantaire’s turn to be self-conscious. “Please don’t give me a lecture on how they’re going to look terrible when I’m older.” He’s shrugging on the blanket again, attempting to cover them up.

“No,” I exclaim, reaching to stop him and then jumping back as I realise how presumptuous that would seem. Grantaire could wrap himself up if he wants to, especially if I’ve made him feel uncomfortable. “I like them,” I finish quietly.

“Really,” Grantaire asks, suspiciously. He shrugs his arms out again and considers the art covering them. I do the same now it feels ok to do so. There are many different pieces and I wouldn’t be surprised if eventually they merge into two full sleeves up his arms, but for now they are still separate. One catches my eye on the inside of his left wrist, it is a small wildflower inked in the same style as an old-fashioned ink sketch, the type you find in old encyclopaedias to illustrate what different species looked like before photography began widely available.

“That one’s different,” I observe, indication the one I mean. Grantaire smiles and brushed a finger across it fondly.

“You can thank Jehan for that one,” he reveals. “Not long after I started coming to meetings they invited me to go on a walk. We were walking through a wood and they picked a flower and passed it to me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It made me feel...” He pauses. “Accepted in a way I’d never felt before. I put the flower in my pocket and the next day I took it to an artist. Now I’ll always have it.” Hearing the story makes my heart ache.

“Do they all have personal meaning?” I ask.

“Some of them do. But some I got just because I liked the look of them. It’s going to sound stupid, but they make me feel like I’m reclaiming my body as my own. Making it more accurately reflect who I am.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” I contradict. I can’t ever say I have wanted to get a tattoo myself, but I can understand what he is saying. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to make a decision like that.”

“What, you don’t want ‘viva la revolution’ in huge letters across your whole chest?” he asks. I pause as though considering it for a moment. “God no! That was a joke! Whatever you do, please don’t do that!” We are both laughing now.

“To be honest I don’t even make those decisions anymore,” he explains as he opens the ice cream. He carves out a spoonful and passes me the tub and a spoon. “Now, if I want a piece, I go to Eponine. She often needs someone to try a new style on and I love her work. So I just let her do her thing, I haven’t regretted it yet.”

I can’t help but be taken aback by this. That Grantaire would pass such a responsibility to a friend and trust her absolutely. I feel a whole new layer of admiration for Grantaire grow and for Eponine’s talent too.

“Hey, don’t hog the ice cream!” he complains and reaches for the tub I had forgotten I was holding. He snatches it back and digs his spoon in. “What are you thinking there?”

I realise I had been lost in my own thoughts and Grantaire is watching me. There is a smudge of ice cream on his cheek. “When we set up the friends of the ABC, we wanted to help people, and we still have so much to fight for but I guess I never stop to see what we have achieved and that we help people, help each other, by just existing.”

“Thank you for coming over. This was really nice.”

“You’re welcome.” I glance down at my phone and notice the time. How had four hours passed already? “It’s getting late, I should probably go. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” I expect Grantaire to have a comeback about how I have, but instead I find him looking down at his lap.

“Do you have to go?” he asks quietly.

“I can always tell Combeferre I’m staying here tonight. I don’t mind. I’ll do it now,” and before Grantaire is required to reply I have sent a quick text. “Done,” I announce.

“OK,” Grantaire scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “So...”

I look around the room. “I’ll just sleep down here,” I decided, starting to make a space on the floor.

“No, that’s stupid. My bed’s plenty big enough for two. Unless you’d rather sleep on the floor. I’d understand if...”

“No, that’s fine with me. Shall I put this away?” I take the ice cream back to the freezer and we shuffle around each other to use the bathroom and get ready for bed. Grantaire curls back against the wall and I turn the lights out before lying down on the other side.

“Good night,” he says.

“Good night.”

It feels so strange to be lying so close to someone while they sleep. I can’t remember the last time I shared a bed with anyone; it was probably a sleepover when I was a teenager. I can hear Grantaire’s breathing slowly even out as he drifts off and the warmth and comfort has me nodding off in no time.

As I drift off into sleep I curl protectively around Grantaire without realising it.

**Grantaire**

As I regain consciousness my first thought is how warm and safe I feel. Someone is holding me close. Someone’s chest rests against my back and an arm is draped over my waist. My mind is still hazy but something doesn’t quite add up. I don’t remember going out or hooking up with anyone. I’d been spending more time with Enjolras instead...Enjolras...Enjolras had come over last night and...stayed and...was now...

My eyes fly open and I try to look behind me without moving too much. In the early morning light I can clearly make out Enjolras’s blond curls over my shoulder. Enjolras is still here. I wonder if I should wake him, but that would probably be awkward for the both of us. Enjolras was obviously unaware that he had started spooning me in his sleep. Or...I could just go back to sleep. I only feel the slightest amount of guilt as I snuggle down closer and drift back to sleep.

When next I wake I am alone. I try not to be too disappointed as I roll over onto my back and stretch out. It all felt like a fever dream, perhaps I’d imagined the whole thing.

The screech of the smoke alarm suddenly blasts through the flat. I am instantly on my feet and making my way to the kitchen. Instead of fire I find Enjolras stood amid a cloud of smoke, batting a tea towel at the smoke detector to try and shut it off. The smell of burnt toast hangs heavily in the air. I open the window to clear the smoke and stand on a chair so that I am able to properly disable the smoke alarm.

“You failed at toast?”

“I wanted to make breakfast,” Enjolras tries to defend himself, while looking a little sheepish.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture, why don’t I cook?”

“I was trying to save you a job.”

“Thank you, but I’m making pancakes.” I begin rummaging through the cupboards for ingredients. In no time I am mixing batter and Enjolras is sat at the table, a safe distance from any appliances. I never thought we would ever be so domestic, I smile to myself.

“So do you have any plans for today?” I ask.

“I’ll probably just head home and get changed. I have an essay to write and a meeting this afternoon. How about you?”

I pause for a second, caught off guard. “I don’t know. I might go for walk later, get some fresh air.”

“That sounds good.”

I notice Enjolras avoiding commenting on how I obviously hadn’t left my home in several days or the state he had found me in yesterday, but as much as I appreciate the gesture, it makes me feel like there is an elephant in the room that we are both avoiding. I plate up the first pancake and place it in front of Enjolras along with a variety of condiments, before turning back to the cooker.

“Why did you come here last night?” I ask, now that my back is safely turned.

“I didn’t like the idea of you being alone. I saw you’d withdrawn from people. I wanted to make sure you were ok.” He looks up at me and I can tell from his expression he is telling the truth. The weight of that hits me. He had been worried about me, worried enough to come here and see for himself that I was alright. I had been in communication with Eponine, who had sent me positive encouraging texts, and Bahorel called to talk when I cancelled out plans to go the gym. But Enjolras had shown up at my door unannounced, not left until I had let him in and then stayed to keep me company. I had always know that Enjolras cared deeply for people and spent every waking moment trying to help them, but for some reason I had never thought of that extending to me.

I plate up my own pancakes and take the pan off the heat. “Thanks,” I say, at a loss for words. “Sorry that I wasn’t the best of company.”

“Please stop putting yourself down like that. You weren’t feeling your best it happens to us all. And I enjoyed myself. It was nice to take a quiet evening. Most of the time I’m so busy I don’t have time to catch a breath.”

We fell quiet again while we ate.

“Did you know sharks don’t have any bone?” he suddenly asks out of the blue.

“Yeah, they only have cartilage,” I reply.

“How does everyone know this?”

“I thought you’d had the best education money could buy. I’d ask for a refund it I were you.”

“But how does that even work?”

“Let it go Enj, nature is weird, learn to live with it.”

“Now you sound just like Combeferre!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And I'm off work for the summer so I now have the time to get this finished (not that we're at the end yet, there is still a way to go)
> 
> This was one of the first scenes I wrote for this story a long time ago and I hope you enjoyed it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras hatches a plan

I wait until the meeting if over and Grantaire is deep in conversation with Joly and Bossuet to pull Feuilly to one side.

“I want to put on an art show for Grantaire,” I say. Feuilly looks at me in confusion, obviously surprised by my suggestion. “A show of his art, he deserves for people to see it, but I have no idea what that involves, so I was wondering if you would help me.” I hold my breath for a moment, but let it out when they begin to smile.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” they agree. “He dropped out before his degree show and I know he feels that means he can’t call himself a proper artist, no matter how many times I insist that you don’t need a piece of paper to be an artist.”

“So you’ll help?”

“Definitely, but we’re going to need some others in on this; Eponine and Jehan for sure. Where do you want to do this?”

“I thought we could have it up here. I don’t now any galleries and I’m sure the Musain will let us use the room.”

“Are we keeping this a surprise?” They ask.

I pause, suddenly unsure. “That was my intention. Unless you think we should ask his permission first. I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

“We can feel it out,” they say nodding. “Keep it a secret to begin with and then once we have some things set consider if we need to bring it up or not.”

I nod, that sounds like a good idea. After all, I’m doing this to build up Grantaire’s self confidence, not make him uncomfortable.

“So what do we do first?”

“Do you have a date or a time scale in mind?”

“I thought we could do it next month, the Saturday we have penciled in as a social. Most people have already marked it on their calendars and it will mean Grantaire would be planning on coming anyway.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Feuilly asks with a sly smile. I feel myself begin to blush.

“It just made sense to do it that day. We already have the room books and we can probably ask for the use of downstairs as well, especially if we ask them to put on food and drink for the event.”

“I thought you said that you didn’t know how to plan something like this?” They ask, their arms crossed over their chest.

“I need help putting the show together. How do you hang it? Do we need boards to put the work on? How do we decided which order to put the art in...?” I trail off, completely at a loss as to what else might be required.

“So you want me to curate it?” They ask. “I like that, I can put it on my artist’s CV, make myself sound fancy and like I know fine art.”

“And we need to get the word out, I want there to be more people there than just us. You know more arty people than I do.”

“Jehan can help with that.”

“Help with what?” Jehan asks, suddenly appearing and making me jump. I quickly glance around to make sure no one else has overheard us.

“How would you like to be the publicist for a super secret art show?” Feuilly asks, wrapping an arm around Jehan and drawing them into our corner.

“How secret are we talking?” They whisper, instantly getting into the spirit of things. I can see they are already on board.

“Only secret to the artist,” Feuilly elaborates.

“And who’s the artist?”

“Grantaire,” I admit.

Jehan suddenly lets out a high cry of excitement before clapping their hands over their mouth. I look around again; sure someone must have heard that. A few people are looking in our direction now, including Grantaire.

“So is that a yes?” I ask softly.

They nod enthusiastically. “But how are we going to get his work without him knowing?”

“And that is where Eponine comes in,” Feuilly says, a mischievous gleam in their eye.

“Eponine the art thief,” Jehan explains. “I love it!”

“What have I created?” I wonder, looking at the two of them.

“Don’t worry, we won’t let you down. Now quickly laugh like I said something funny.”

“Why?” I ask in confusion but Feuilly bursts out laughing just as Grantaire steps into our circle.

“What are you all doing over here?” he asks, suspiciously.

“Nothing,” I say, scratching the back of my neck, my heart is racing.

“Jehan’s taken up limericks but they’re not suitable for regular company,” Feuilly jumps in. “And they’re too much for Enjolras.”

“Really?” Grantaire looks intrigued. “Go on then.”

To my horror Jehan clears their throat and launches into one of the dirtiest limericks I have ever heard. I feel immediately uncomfortable hearing it while in company and leave them all holding their sides with laughter.

  
  
**Grantaire**

I am sat in a large armchair in the corner of the Musain with my sketch pad when I spot Enjolras come in and walk straight to the counter. He looks flustered and out of breath. He doesn’t even look around the room or I am sure he would have spotted me watching him. He accepts his cup back from the barista and is about to head back out so I shout his name to draw his attention. His head whips around and he sees me. His lips twitch into a surprised smile and my stomach does a little flip. I wave and he makes his way across to me.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” I ask.

“I just had a meeting with Courfeyrac and Combeferre and I need to go home and type up the minutes before this evening so that I can send them to everyone. I won’t have time later. I’m working on something with Feuilly and Jehan.”

“You type up the minutes?” I ask in surprise. “I thought if you guys were having a meeting you’d be the chair.”

“I am,” he says.

“And you do the minutes?”

“Well Combeferre had a shift at the hospital and Courfeyrac has only ever minuted one meeting and you can probably guess how that went.”

“Surely you have time for a break!” I insist. “It can’t be that important to get them done right at this moment.”

“I don’t like to leave things until later if I can do them now,” he argues.

“And while that is an admirably trait, you look like you’ve been running around all day. So sit down for a minute and have a rest.”

He looks so conflicted, like I have asked him to choose between his friends. Finally he caves and sits down in the chair next to me. However he sits perched on the edge of the seat, like he could get up at any moments, which just won’t do. I reach out and take his hand. He starts but doesn’t pull away. I’ll take that as a victory. I begin to gently rub his palm and then his fingers, watching as he lets himself sink back into the chair a little more. I run my fingers over the black ring he wears on his finger.

“Can I ask you a question,” I ask. “It’s kind of personal. You can always tell me to fuck off.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “If it makes me uncomfortable I just won’t answer it.”

“What’s it like to be ace? I’ve done my research and read about it but I just don’t understand it. It’s nothing I’ve ever experiences. I was just wandering what it’s like for you.” The more time I spend with Enjolras the more I feel like there is something there between us and I want to know what that might be.

He frowns in thought.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. I knew it was a rude question. Forget I said anything.”

“No, it’s alright,” he says. “I was just thinking how best to describe it. At first it was like I just didn’t understand what everyone was talking about. I didn’t really develop crushes on anyone and when other kids asked me who I fancied it made me really uncomfortable and they never believed me when I said no one. Then it was like I was being left behind, like all my peers were growing up and experiencing things which I wasn’t. Remember, I grew up with Courfeyrac.

“Later it felt lonely, like I would always be alone. It’s really easy to fall into a holier than thou mindset and judge your peers who are doing things that you’re not. Luckily I’ve always had friends to keep me grounded in that respect.

“Finally I learned that I wasn’t alone, that there were words for the way I was feeling. I had the sudden realisation that if I really wanted to find a boyfriend I would have tried to, like I do with everything else in my life. So it must not be high on my agenda. It was like a weight had lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t realised how much I carried around societal expectations until that moment.”

I look back down at his hand, which I am still holding. “So does your ring remind you of that?” I ask, curious.

“No, I mostly wear it for others to see, so that I don’t need to explain myself.”

“To signal to the world that you’re just not interested in them?”

“No!” Enjolras says firmly, looking uncomfortable for the first time. I am a little taken aback that that comment was the one to get a rise out of him. “More so that I don’t waste my time getting involved with anyone who turns out to be an obnoxious asshole. This way, if they have something to say, they’re more likely to come out with it early on.”

“Very practical,” I observe.

“My mother would agree with you there. God, you should have heard the talk she gave me about men when I came out to her as gay.”

“Our mother’s must have had the same hand book only mine came with a side of pregnancy fear mongering. Although she did offer to buy me condoms. So, does that mean you’re not opposed to relationships? It’s just I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

“I’m not theoretically opposed, no, but I do lack any practical evidence to back that up. I guess I’m just not that driven to find out. If it happens it happens, but I have always felt platonic relationships to be as important as romantic ones, and I feel blessed in that regard.” He smiles at me. I feel a shadow of hope begin to form. “But enough about me, what have you been working on?”

I finally relinquish his hand and pick my sketchbook up off the coffee table. I flip to the latest sketches I’d done and pass it to him. I am usually reluctant to show people my drawings but I feel it is only fair that I give him something of me after I asked something so personnel of him.

“I like to sit here and just watch everyone come and go. It’s a good way to practice drawing different people.” He flips through the pages. They are scattered with quick sketches, not finished pieces. I can see all my mistakes and the things I got wrong; the quirk of an eye brow I wasn’t able to catch as I would have liked, or the proportions of someone’s nose. But Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice any of them. He carefully takes in each drawing before turning to the next page. He reaches the end of my Musain sketched and I reach out my hand for the book, but he doesn’t notice and turns the next page.

“Jehan!” he exclaims, and I can’t deny it. The double page spread is littered with sketches of them.

“I was at their flat, they were writing and I was drawing.” I try to explain myself.

“You’ve captured them perfectly. That’s exactly how they look when they are following an idea and forget they still exist in the real word for a moment.” I smile, knowing exactly what he means.

“Have you drawn anyone else?” He asks.

I hesitate, showing him these pictures feel like baring my soul. But though my heart is hammering in my chest I nod and tell him he can keep going. I chew my thumb nail, still apprehensive of what he might think. There’s another page of Eponine, surrounded by tattoo designs. Then a series of pages I had drawn over several meetings where I had drawn people as they sat and listened, or afterwards when everyone was socialising if I didn’t feel in a particularly sociable mood that night. Each time he spots someone new his face lights up. I can’t be sure if it is in admiration for our friends or my drawings, perhaps in that moment they are one and the same. As he nears the front of the book I hold my breath, knowing what he’ll see when he turns the next page.

I watch as Enjolras sees himself. In most of the drawings he is stood at the front of the room, taking passionately about some point or other. Each time I had tried to accuracy capture his feelings, his passions in that moment, I’m not sure if I was always successful but there are a couple I can feel proud about. But my favorites are the drawings I did when he was sat watching someone else speak, or after the meeting had officially ended, when I had managed to capture him in one of his rare still moments, a peaceful calm on his face.

Enjolras is quiet for a long time. Finally I break the silence. “Sorry, I should have asked first.”

He finally closes the sketchbook and hands it back to me. “They’re really good,” he says, and his sincerity leaves no room for doubt. “You’ve captured everyone perfectly.”

“Thanks. I can’t believe it’s pretty much four years since the first time I attended a meeting,” I admit.

“Has it really been that long? It seems like only yesterday and also like you’ve been with us the whole time.”

“You know, that was the first time I ever told anyone I was a guy,” I confess. We must be in a sharing mood today and going through my sketches has made me nostalgic.

“I didn’t know that,” he admits.

“I guess it was easier to come out to a group of strangers. If you all rejected me I wouldn’t have lost anything.”

His face softens and I instantly regret suggesting such a thing. “We would never reject you!”

“I know. Once you’re in this weird cult of yours there’s no leaving, is there?”

“This isn’t a cult,” he laughs.

“Isn’t it? I refuse to believe you until you can prove me wrong. Is this, or is this not a group with a great devotion towards a particular idea. I’ve been trying to get out for years and I’m still here.”

“And what does that make me? A cult leader?” He begins to look disgusted by the idea which only makes me laugh louder.

“Something like that,” I admit quietly but I’m not sure if he hears me.

“Grantaire, I’m so happy that we could be there for you,” he says and I believe him.

**Enjolras**

The sound of Combeferre closing the door startles me out of my thoughts. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here thinking, but the sun has set and I am sitting in the dark. Combeferre sits down next to me.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

“How do you know if you like someone?” I ask.

“Starting with the easy ones tonight are we. Care to clarify?”

“How do you know if how you feel for someone is platonic or something else?”

“Are we talking hypothetically?”

“Can we pretend that we are?”

“Well, I suppose it’s different for everyone. You might want to spend more time with this hypothetical person, or do particular things with them, or it might just be the way you feel when you are with them.”

I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them, thinking. Is that what it is like with Grantaire? I do enjoy spending time with him, as it turns out, and I have developed new feelings for him, but I don’t know what that means. As I told him, I’ve never been in a relationship before. What if I’m just projecting and I like him purely platonically? Not that that would be a bad thing, I just don’t want to do the wrong thing. And anyway, I don’t even know how he feels towards me.

I wonder if there is a way for me to test the waters, to see what it would feel like before deciding anything one way or the other.

“What are you thinking there?”

“Just trying to work something out.”

“Look, I know who this is about,” he confesses.

“How?” I ask, feeling heat flood my face.

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Who else knows?”

“Well you did rope us all into helping you put on a surprise exhibition for him, so I’m saying pretty much everyone except Grantaire. Though the jury’s still out on Marius.”

I bury my face in my hands.

“What am I doing?”

“When you feel the time is right, I think the best thing for you to do would be to talk to him about how you feel. You don’t need to figure this out on your own.”

I make my way to bed but I don’t fall asleep for a long time, I have a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got super exited when I came up with the idea of a secret exhibition and who would be involved. This is going to be fun. 
> 
> If you want to read about Grantaire's first meeting, which he mentioned in this chapter, you can find it here [A Warm Welcome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758668)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is determined to prove once and for all that he can cook.

**_Enjolras:_** What are you doing tonight?

 ** _Grantaire:_** Do you think I have no life of my own? That I can come over at a drop of a hat whenever you wish?

 ** _Enjolras:_** ...

 ** _Grantaire:_** OK, fine, I’m free.

 ** _Enjolras:_** Great! Can you cover over at 6?

 ** _Grantaire:_** Dare I ask why?

 ** _Enjolras:_** I’m going to prove to you that I can cook, once and for all.

 ** _Grantaire:_** I’m regretting asking.

 ** _Enjolras:_** You will eat you words tonight.

 ** _Grantaire:_** Well I’m going to have to if you’re cooking.

 ** _Enjolras:_** Fine, don’t come over, it’s up to you.

 ** _Grantaire:_** OK, you drive a hard bargain, I’ll be there. Do you need me to bring anything?

 ** _Enjolras:_** Just that charming whit and personality.

 ** _Grantaire:_** Damn, I’m all out of whit, I’ll bring wine instead.

**Grantaire:**

I arrive at Enjolras’s house a little after 6pm. I stopped at the supermarket on the way and grabbed a bottle of wine and also a box of chocolates, just in case whatever feast Enjolras has panned is inedible. It’s only as I stand on his doorstep and ring the bell that I realise how I must look. Shit! I’m such a fool.

But Enjolras doesn’t make any comments when he opens the door, just invites me in and offers to take my coat. I toe off my shoes in the doorway; belatedly realising I am wearing odd socks, and follow Enjolras into the kitchen.

I’m astonished to not find any smoke, instead it smells great. Enjolras takes the wine and chocolates from me and places them on the sideboard.

“What are we having then?” I ask.

“Lasagna,” he replies. “I just assemble it and put it in the oven so we have about 30 minutes.”

“Shall I pour us a glass of wine to start?” I ask.

“I don’t usually drink,” he says. I know that, but I’ve never heard it was for any particular ethical reason so I decide to push back a little.

“Just one glass?” I ask.

“Go on then.”

“I retrieve the bottle; thankful I bought a screw top because the chances of finding a corkscrew in this kitchen seem slim. Enjolras presents me with two tumblers but I don’t comment, not when I usually drink from the bottle.

I pour a small amount into each glass and pass one to Enjolras. “Cheers.” We clink glasses and drink. Or I do. Enjolras takes a hesitant mouthful and pulls a face before swallowing. I laugh.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had such a refined pallet.”

“It’s not that, I’m just not a fan of alcohol.” He sets his glass aside. I do the same, the wine losing its appear somewhat. “Let’s do something else then.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, you’re the host.”

“Oh, well, we could lay the table I guess.” he says, shifting awkwardly. He gets plates and cutlery out of the cupboards and we set two places at the small table in the living room. It all feels vey quaint and domestic.

Once we are done I sit down at the table while Enjolras goes back into the kitchen to prepare the salad. I look around the room. I’ve never been here before. Everything is very neat and orderly. It makes me feel even more self conscious about my small and cluttered flat.

Enjolras comes back in to place a bowl of salad on the table. This is followed by a bubbling tray of lasagna flesh from the oven. He even brings the wine though, but I notice his remains untouched so I don’t drink more than the one glass.

“Help yourself,” he says, digging a serving spoon into the dish.

Not wanting to look greedy, but also not wanting to offend, I spoon what I hope is an appropriately sized portion onto my plate and watch as Enjolras does the same.

“Well?” he asks, watching me expectantly.

I take a bite. It’s much too hot but once I get over the initial shock and manage to chew and swallow it’s good, really good actually.

“Fine, you prove your point,” I relent. “You can cook.” With a look of relief he tucks into his own plate of food.

**Enjolras**

I try not to watch Grantaire too closely while he eats, but I feel satisfied that I have made a meal for him and he is enjoying it. Is this what a date would feel like, I wonder as I take the plates to the kitchen. It’s not a date, but it could be. But then how were the other times we spent time together alone different to dates? We talked, got to know each other and enjoyed each other’s company. But also, how is that different to friendship? It’s all so confusing.

I quickly tie my hair back with a piece of elastic so that it’s out of my eyes while I rinse off the plates. A few strands come loose almost immediately and I try to brush them away with the back of my hand. There is a frustrated noise from the doorway.

“Do you ever do anything else with your hair?” he asks. “To keep it out of your face?”

“Not really,” I reply. “I’ve never really devoted much thought to it.”

“The washing up can wait, come over here and sit, and bring the chocolates.” He directs me to sit on the floor in front go the sofa. He sits behind me, his knees either side of my shoulders. I open the chocolates and offer him one before taking one myself.

I bite into it but I’m distracted by the foreign feeling of fingers in my hair. I must freeze because he suddenly should unsure. “Is this OK,” he asks.

“Um, yeah,” I say, trying to sound sure, because I trust him, but I’m not used to this sort of intimacy. He carefully teases the elastic out, which has already become tangled, and then gently combs his fingers though to untangle any knots. I am thankful I took a shower before he came over and so my hair is clean.

I begin to forget myself and lean back against his legs and gentle touch, allowing my eyes to drift closed.

“You ok there,” he asks, some amusement in his voice.

“It’s been a busy week,” I sigh, feeling the tension leave my body. He begins sectioning off my hair and braiding it. “Do you have much practice of this?” I ask, because he clearly does, yet another hidden talent.

“Me and my sisters used to play at doing each other’s hair,” he admits.

“You have sisters?” I ask, because it’s the first I’ve heard of them.

“Yeah, but I’m not really close to my family anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be, it’s ok. They just think I should be doing more with myself rather than being the fabulous art school dropout you see before you.”

“Well if they can’t see you for the caring, talented person you are, that’s their loss.” Grantaire pauses. I wonder if I have overstepped, but I meant what I said.

“You don’t need to boost my ego, you know,” he finally replies and I feel him resume his work. The tips of his fingers brush my scalp and we are silent for a few minutes, him concentrating and me enjoying the feel of his fingers in my hair, knowing that it will be over soon.

“Can I ask you a question?” I finally say.

“You just did,” he points out.

“You know what I mean.”

“OK, shoot.”

“Why don’t you believe in anything?”

“It’s easier than getting my hopes up to only have them dashed. That’s happened too many times in the past. I want to believe things can get better, but I just can’t believe that they will.” Grantaire has finished while we were talking and is securing the end of the braid with the elastic. I look back at him and see his sad face. I want to take him in my arms and tuck his head under my chin. So I do. I move to sit next to him and hold him close. I want to protect him from everything that has ever hurt him. I want him to feel safe enough to believe in something. He is stiff for a moment but then he melts into my side, his arms warm against my back.

“Things will get better and we will make a difference,” I say with conviction as we draw apparent.

He smiles at that. “I believe in you,” he mutters.

I being a hand behind my head to feel the loose French braid. It’s not too tight and keeps all the loose strands of my hair out of my face, but it’s nothing I’ll be able to replicate myself. “Thanks,” I say.

“Anytime.”

**Grantaire**

We sit and chat and it’s comfortable in a way I never thought we could be together. It’s almost like we are together, almost like this is a date, but I stop those thoughts only half formed. We’re just friends, that’s all, but I think I can actually call him my friend now.

His hair is fine and silky and I can still feel how it felt flowing through my fingers. With it tied back his eyes are even more intense. I wonder if I will be able to persuade him to let me do his hair again someday.

As I prepare to leave, it’s far later than I expected and I’m still reluctant for the evening to end. We are stood by the door and I think he is going in for a hug, but then he kisses me on the cheek.

“Good night, R,” he says. I say my good bye and leave, utterly confused. I’m still walking home when I call Eponine.

“I don’t know what just happened!” I exclaim the moment she answers.

“Hello Eponine. How are you? Oh I’m just fine and dandy thanks, and how was _your_ evening?”

“Yes, all that as well, but I don’t know what just happened.”

“Well, talk me though it.”

“I went over to Enjolras’s because I had been teasing him about how he can’t cook and it must have struck a nerve because he insisted on proving that he can.”

“And can he?” she interrupts.

“Surprisingly, yes, I stand corrected. But as I was leaving he leaned forward and kissed me. On the cheek!” I say quickly for context.

“It’s pretty late, you must have been getting along well,” she says suggestively.

“Why are you not reacting to the fact he kissed me?” I demand.

“It does seem out of character for him,” she admits. “What sort of a kiss are we talking about? Was it a platonic kiss, a good bye kiss, a ‘I missed my target’ kiss.”

“How should I know? I didn’t stick around to find out. Does this mean he likes me? I’ve spent too long coming to terms with the fact that my feelings for him will never be reciprocated without him throwing a spanner in the works like this.”

“Well then you need to be clear with him and say you don’t want him to kiss you ever again.”

“Eponine, you are not taking this seriously!”

“Neither of us are mind readers and the only one who knows why he kissed you is Enjolras. Or possibly Combeferre.”

“How am I going to sleep tonight?” I ask.

“TMI,” Eponine cries. “I don’t need to know what you’re going to be doing when you are by yourself tonight.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” I laugh.

“Well...maybe you should. It might help you drift off easier.”

“This is the last time I come to you for advice on a critically important issue.”

“You love me really,” she says.

“You know I do. Night.” I hang up the phone as I reach my door, my mind still in turmoil about what everything means.

***

Feuilly looks flustered and out of breath when they arrive. Their hair is still damp and one of their dungaree straps has slipped off their shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” they apologies. “I needed to grab a shower after work and then I had a battle to get my binder back on.”

“No worries,” I say. “I don’t miss _those_ struggles and it’s only half an hour since we said.”

“I still don’t like to leave you waiting. So what are you working on at the moment?” We go through into the kitchen and Feuilly begins getting out their trusty lap top and second hand drawing tablet, I am sure they have had the same ones for as long as I have known them.

“I was just going through some rough sketches from the Musain the other day, making them a little more finished.” I say, sitting back down in front of my work. “I still have no idea how you use that thin,” I mention as they plug everything in.

“It comes pretty naturally once you get used to it,” they insist but I don’t believe it, digital art isn’t my bag.

We have one of these sessions about once month, an opportunity to just sit down and create together, bounce ideas off each other. Sometimes Jehan joins is but today it’s just the two of us.

“Can I see?” they ask. I pass my sketchbook over. They take a moment to consider the sketches I have been blocking out with markers. They are still rough but have some more life then the original sketches. “I really like these. I like how you can still see the pencil underneath. This one reminds me of that paining you did, the one with the blues and purples. Do you still have that?” Before I can answer they are on their feet, making their way to my room and stacked up canvases.

I stand in the doorway with my arms folded as they search. “Here it is,” they say, pulling the paining free. “It has a similar mood.”

“I’d forgotten about that one,” I say with a shrug. “I can’t remember the last time I looked through that pile.”

“Oh, I remember this one,” they say pulling out another. “I wish I could capture light like that.” This continues and I watch in amusement as my room becomes littered with canvases. I didn’t realise how many there were, having thrown a bed sheet over them to protect them from dust and so that I wouldn’t be constantly reminded of them.

“Have you ever thought of having an exhibition?” they ask.

I snort. “Like anyone would want to show these,” I say. “We should put them away and get back to work.”

Feuilly begins to stack the paintings back up but doesn’t drop the subject. “Would it really be so bad if someone wanted to show them?”

“No, or course not, but no one’s going to do that so can we just drop it.” I want to go back to drawing rather than dredging up past hopes.

“Sure thing,” they finally relent. “But I think it’s only a matter of time before you’re appreciated as the artistic genius you are.”

“Whatever,” I laugh, shrugging off the compliment and heading back to the kitchen.

“So, to change the subject,” they say, sitting back down at the table. “Surprise birthday parties, fun surprise of cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Well that came out of left field,” I remark, trying to catch up.

“I was just thinking about it the other day, like, some people love surprises but for others, they hate that sort of attention. It must be awful if something like that back fires.”

I’ve never really thought about it like that. I have no idea how I would think if all my friends jumped out from behind a sofa and shouted ‘happy birthday’ at me. Probably, how did they all fit behind a sofa? Then I begin to think about what usually comes before the bug surprise.

“I like the idea, it sounds like a nice thing to do for someone, bit I really don’t like how people sometimes pretend they have forgotten the person’s birthday to make the surprise bigger. That would really suck.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“So, who are you planning a surprise party for?”

“No one,” they reply. “But we should at some point. Imagine an ABC surprise party.”

“Yeah, that would be a riot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really just compare the June rebellion to a surprise party? 
> 
> We're nearing the end now. Only 2 more chapters to go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras needs to distract Grantaire for twenty four hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of gender dysphoria and internalised transphobia but nothing too graphic.

**Grantaire**

Neither of us mentions the kiss, but things have changed. Sometimes Enjolras will just look over at me and smile for no reason.

After the next meeting he makes his way over to where I am standing against the wall and bumps me with his shoulder. “So what are you doing tonight?” he asks.

“Well we have that thing on Saturday so probably not a lot. What are we doing on Saturday anyway? I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“Oh, sorry. Everyone’s bringing food and we’re having a big meal.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I should be planning what to bring,” I complain in mock outrage. In reality, even if I had known in advance I still probably wouldn’t have decided yet.

“You should bring your famous chocolate chip cookies,” he suggests.

“They’re not famous,” I laugh.

“They are around here,” he insists.

“Well I guess now we know what I’m doing tomorrow night.”

“Do you think you could bake them at mine?” He asks.

“And why would I do that?” I ask in confusion.

He looks down a little guiltily. “Ferre’s working nights, I thought we could hang out.”

“Why don’t you come over to mine then?” I ask.

“Please? We could watch some movies and make a night of it. You could even stay over if you like.” I look up in surprise and Enjolras flushed further as he stutters, “Not like that, like a sleep over. It could be fun and we can go to the social on Saturday together.”

“OK,” I give in. Things are getting stranger and stranger. “See you tomorrow.”

**Enjolras**

I am frantic, trying to get everything ready before Grantaire arrives. Feuilly and Bahorel have acquired a van and are waiting for the all clear. I finish a call with Musichetta who has been talking to the Musain about catering and other arrangements that Joly and Bossuet will help finalise tomorrow. I receive an unexpected text from Marius which simply says “help”, which must mean that Courfeyrac has picked up Gavroche who he has volunteered to babysit for the evening. Everything is falling into place.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Relax. You’ve done everything you can and now it just needs to play out. Everything will be fine.”

“I just don’t want to mess it up,” I admit.

“You won’t. So stop stressing and just enjoy your evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives me a hug and heads out to work.

Twenty minutes later there is a knock at the door. I let Grantaire in and help him carry his bags through to the kitchen. I hadn’t considered how much he’d _need_ to bake the cookies and realise that under normal circumstances it would have made much more sense to do this at his flat. But I needed to get him out of the way for twenty four hours.

“I brought everything I thought I might need because I didn’t know what you’d have. Sure, you can cook,” he says with a wink. “But I remember the infamous chocolate cake incident.”

“I’ll just assist,” I say, helping him lay everything out on the counter. Right on time my phone begins to ring. Grantaire looks up from where he is setting up the scales.

“I ordered some food. I’ll just go and fetch it,” I explain, leaving the kitchen. I check he hasn’t followed me before beginning to rummage through the pockets of his coat, which is hanging by the door.

Eponine is waiting on the street outside, pizza box in hand. I take the box and hand over Grantaire’s keys, but her hand is still extended. “Don’t you tip you’re delivery derivers?” she asks.

“You didn’t drive,” I point out.

“Then surely I deserve double.”

“I left my wallet inside.”

“Well that’s the last time I deliver to this address,” she says with a laugh, finally breaking character.

I thank her for helping and turn to head back inside but she stops me.

“Don’t play with Grantaire,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“He won’t ask you himself, but he wants to know what all of this means?”

“All of what?”

“All of this,” she gestures around at everything. “The movies, the cooking, the show he doesn’t even know about yet.”

I frown. “I don’t know what it means?” I admit, shuffling in the cold.

“Then you need to figure it out and then talk to him about it. Promise me you’ll do that or I’ll swear you’ll regret it.” Eponine can be a force to be reckoned with when she wants to be. I nod, helplessly.

“I promise,” I say. She nods, happy with my reply and walking away down the street. I take the pizza inside hoping it’s not too cold.

“You were gone a long time,” Grantaire says, coming out from the kitchen.

“There was a mix up with the order,” I lie. “It’s all fixed now. Do you want to eat now or after we’ve finished baking?”

“Now! I’m starving.”

***

Grantaire takes the tray out of the oven and pokes one of the cookies gingerly. “I think they’re done,” he declares and begins transferring them to a cooling rack. The whole house smells amazing. “Do you have any ice cream?” he asks.

“I think we have some, why?”

“I think we deserve a treat for out hard work, don’t you,” I retrieve a half eaten tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer and watch as he transfers two of the cookies to bows and spoons an a generous amount of ice cream. I grab the spoons and we make out way to the sofa in the living room.

I bite down on melting ice cream and molten chocolate and I think I must be in heaven.

“Do you and the cookie need a moment alone?” Grantaire asks with a smirk.

I blush. “Want to watch a movie,” I ask in an attempt to deflect his attention from me but then we end up sat next to each other facing the TV and even though the sofa is spacious he is sat right next to me so that the side of his body presses against mine and all I can think about are Eponine’s words. What is this?

Our not really a date had gone well, just thinking about it makes my heart swell and here he is again, curled up against my side and I feel so blessed just to be in his company.

I tentatively reach my arm around his shoulders and draw him closer. He glances up at me questioningly so I just smile. He smiles back and rests his head on my shoulder. While we watch my fingers find their way into his hair and begin to absentmindedly play with his curls.

“You’re going to need to stop that,” he finally says. “If you don’t want me to fall asleep on you.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, continuing to twist his hair around my fingers.

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He doesn’t fall asleep, at least I don’t think he does, but he does stay curled up by me and by the time the credits roll we are both sleepy and decide to call it a night.

**Grantaire**

I strip to my boxers in the bathroom and pull on a t-shirt Enjolras has leant me to sleep in. While packing all my baking equipment I had forgotten to pack pyjamas. It’s a size smaller than I would have preferred and hugs my body in ways I wish it wouldn’t. I find I don’t want to leave the bathroom, suddenly incredibly self conscious. Enjolras would never say anything, I know that, but I can’t help wonder what he might think when he sees me. It’s unfair of me to think he might privately judge me but that’s just where my brain goes. I gather my clothes back up off the floor and use them to shield myself as I leave the bathroom.

I find Enjolras sat on his bed, also in boxers and a t-shirt, leaning against the headboard and scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” I say, finally relinquishing my makeshift shield on a chair and sit down on the other side of the bed. I had insisted I didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa but he had said that was stupid since we had already slept in the same bed once before. “Can we talk about something?” I ask.

“Sure.” He puts his phone down. He finally looks up at me grows worried. “Is everything ok,” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just want to get something out in the open between ups, but it’s difficult.”

“OK, well I’m listening. Take as much time as you need.”

I nod. I pull a blanket onto my lap so that I don’t feel so exposed. “I like how close we’ve become,” I finally confess. “Like today, on the sofa... I don’t know if you’re aware, but that night you stayed over at mine you kind of spooned me in your sleep.” His face flushes scarlet and he looks away.

“I hoped you hadn’t noticed that,” he mutters shyly to his chest. “I didn’t know I was doing it until I woke up.”

“Chill, I said I liked it,” I resume, reaching out my hand to take his. Holding his hand feels reassuring and I rest our clasped hands on my knee while I continue. “But sometimes I’m still uncomfortable in my own skin. There are things that I notice about myself, which I’m worried if you were to notice, would mean you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

“R,” he begins, but I look up to stop him.

“I’m not saying that you would, I’m saying that I feel you would. That’s why I thought it would help to talk about this.”

“OK, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Have I done something that you’re not comfortable with? Because if I have, I’m so sorry and I’ll try not to do it again.”

“No, you haven’t,” I say quietly. “These are just fears I have.”

“OK, then can I make a suggesting?”

“Shoot.”

“If you’re worried about what I might think, why don’t I tell you what I do think.”

I bite my lip suddenly terrified. If I hear what he thinks, my mind might not be so eager to fill in the blanks, but then am I ready to hear it? Finally I nod.

“Grantaire...R...” Enjolras is saying. I look up at him. “Can I tough you?” he asks. I nod again.

He moves closer, so that he is sat cross-legged in front of me. “When I look at you,” he says, combing his fingers through my hair and holds my head close to his. “I see an intelligent, talented, handsome man.” I snort in disagreement but only make a show of trying to pull away, never wanting him to stop hiding me. He moves his hands down to my shoulders.

“I’m not going to tell you that you need to stop thinking those things about yourself, because I know it’s not that simple and these things run deep, but can you try to believe me when I say I like you just the way you are.” I look away, not able to meet the intensity of his gaze, but I nod, agreeing to try.

“Can I hug you?” he asks. I fold myself into his arms. Enjolras hugs with the same determination with which he does everything in life and I feel secure and supported. I press my face into his shoulder and breath deep.

“I hope I helped,” he says.

“You did,” I mumble into his shirt. “Can we just stay like this for a while?”

“Whatever you want.

***

When I wake up, I am greeted by the heavenly sight of Enjolras beside me. His hair is tangled on the pillow and he’s watching me with a small smile.

“How long have you been up?” I ask groggily, scrubbing my hand over my face to clear any sleep from my eyes and smooth my hair.

“Not long but I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I appreciate the absence of smoke alarms this time.”

“I thought you might, which is why I think we should go out for breakfast.”

“I don’t mind making something,” I say but he looks somewhat deflated.

“No, let’s go out,” he says and how can I deny him that?

We still have a relatively lazy morning, getting ready slowly and taking it in turns to use the shower and change in the bedroom. I make myself a coffee, thankful that Combeferre had some in him cupboards, and sit at the dining table reading yesterdays newspaper while the golden morning sun filters through the window. It’s too easy to imagine this is how life could be.

The morning air outside when we finally head out is crisp and refreshing as we walk to a nearby cafe. I suggested we just go straight to the Musain and spend the day there but he insisted on going somewhere new.

The cafe is bright and modern. I order a waffle with far too much sugar to have any nutritional value while Enjolras opts for porridge. I mock him about his healthy choices until the dish arrives, spiced with cinnamon, decorated with sliced pears and looking like it ought to be served in a Michelin star restaurant.

Despite the tranquillity of the morning Enjolras seems restless. He keeps glancing at his phone when he doesn’t think I’m looking. Eventually I put my hand over his. “The world’s not going anywhere if you look away for five minutes,” I say.

“Sorry,” he apologises. With some reluctance he finally puts his phone away in his coat pocket and promises not to look at it. “There’s a small indie books shop near here that I’ve been meaning to check out,” he says as we eat. “It’s only been open a few weeks but I’ve heard good things, we could go once we’ve finished here?”

“Sure,” I agree, happy to go along with anything really. “Sounds interesting.”

Which is how I find myself in a tiny, queer bookshop ticked behind a florist. I watch Enjolras walk straight towards the history section and am about to follow him when a shelf catches my eye. The whole book case is dedicated to trans authors. I stop in my tracks, sure I have never seen so many tans voices in once place before. There is non-fiction, memoir, poetry, short fiction anthologies. I feel myself gravitate towards the graphic novels on the bottom shelf and sit down on the carpet to better brows.

“Find something?” Enjolras asks a while later, crouching down next to me. I see he’s carrying a stack of books in his arms.

“Just browsing,” I say, putting the book back. “Unlike some. Are you buying that whole section?”

“It’s important to support local businesses,” he defends.

“That’s convenient,” I laugh.

“Plus I’ve been meaning to pick these up from a while but I didn’t want to get them off the internet. What were you looking at?” He pulls out the graphic novel I’d put back. “I’ll get it for you,” he says and adds it to his stack.

“You already paid for breakfast,” I protest, getting to my feel.

“I don’t mind.” Before I can stop him he has placed the pile on the counter and is pulling out his wallet. We leave the shop, our bags a lot heavier than when we arrived.

“Since when did you become my sugar daddy?” I ask as we walk down the street but Enjolras doesn’t seem to hear, he’s got his phone out again.

“We can head to the Musain now,” he announces, as though that’s not where we were already going.

“Ok, what’s going on?” I ask as he stops just as we are about to round the corner to the Musain.

“Nothing,” he insists, but I see though his lie.

“Something is definitely going on,” I say. “Are you going to tell me what or do I need to guess?”

He stands awkwardly for a moment, weighing up his options and come to a quick decision. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks again.

“Yes, of course,” I reply. “But what has that got to do with anything?”

“Close your eyes,” he says and holds out his hand. I stare back at him and then down at his waiting hand. I want answers not more riddles but in the end I give in.

I close my eyes and take his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the tiny cliff hanger at the end but we know what's coming, even if Grantaire doesn't.
> 
> While writing this I came to the realisation that I think Enjolras would always want to pay for everything. i might explore that in another story at some point.
> 
> The next chapter will be the last one. I haven't written it yet but I know what's going to happen so I expect to have it posted in a few days. Thank you to everyone who had read this far, I hope you enjoy it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Enjolras**

I wave my hand in front of Grantaire’s eyes to make sure he’s not cheating and then carefully begin to lead him down the street. Jehan has plastered posters advertising the show across the windows of the Musain and I smile as we pass.

When we enter the cafe silence falls as everyone realises we have arrived.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” he asks.

“Almost,” I say, waving at everyone to get in position. Our friends stumble over each other to stand around the room so that they aren’t obstructing anything from view. “OK,” I finally say. “You can look now.”

I stand back and watch with some apprehension as he cautiously opens his eyes. He looks around for a few seconds in confusion and then his eyes land on one of his paintings and widen. He quickly looks around the rest of the room, trying to take it all in.

The Musain is transformed. The table have been moved out of the way and tall display boards have taken their place. All Grantaire’s paintings have been professionally mounted, complete with tiny title cards for each piece. There is a table set to one side with his sketchbooks laid out so that people can look through them and the counter is laden with food and drinks. Everyone is holding their breath, waiting for his reaction.

“Surprise,” I finally say.

He puts his hands up to his face. “You...you did this?” he asks.

“Not by myself,” I admit. “Everyone helped in some way.”

“Oh my god!” he stammers and I realise his is trying to hold back tears. I step forward again.

“Are you ok?” I ask.

“Yes I’m fucking ok!” he answers and pulls me close, burying his face in my chest. I wrap my arms around him as his shoulders shake. “I can’t believe you fucking did this.”

“You deserve to have an exhibition,” I say. “Would you like to look around? We still have a little time before it’s officially open to the public, so if there is anything you would rather people didn’t see just let us know and we’ll put it upstairs.”

Jehan comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let me give you a tour,” they offer. Reluctantly Grantaire detaches himself from me and follows Jehan. I am content to stead back and watch as he takes it all in.

Courfeyrac sidles up to where I am standing. “You were looking very close back there,” he says.

“Shut up.”

“Just an observation,” he says, putting his hands up in defence. “You know if you wanted the perfect moment to confess any feelings to a certain someone, tonight might be the night.”

“What did Combeferre tell you?”

“Nothing,” he says with a smirk and walks away, leaving me once again with my thoughts. I decide to go and find Feuilly to make sure everything is ready to go.

**Grantaire**

Everything goes by in a blur. Jehan sows me round and I am astonished by how different my paintings look properly displayed instead of piled under a sheet in my bedroom. They look like real art. I worry that I’m not dressed smartly enough but Jehan insists that this isn’t that kind of show.

Someone hands me a glass of juice and then I realise the doors must be open because there are peoples walking around who I don’t recognise. I keep a low profile, happy for people to not know I’m the artist and enjoying listening to what they say about my work. Not everyone is a fan but I am surprised by the amount of positive comments I overhear.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I spin around.

“Congratulations!” Eponine beams at me. I smile back and we clink our glasses in a silent toast.

“So what part did you play in all of this?” I ask, wondering how long they have all been plotting this behind my back.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She reaches into her pocket and, to my surprise, pulls out my keys. “Art thief extraordinaire. I knew my shady past would come in handy one day.” I realise that with everything that has happened I hadn’t even stopped to consider how they had gotten my stuff from my flat

“How did you get these?” I ask as I take them from her.

“Ask Enjolras,” she says with a wink.

Feuilly comes over and joins us. “Are you enjoying yourself,” they ask.

“I’m still a little overwhelmed to be honest,” I reply. “I never dared to imagine something like this would happen.”

“Just soak it in.”

I look around again. Then my eyes catch on something. There is a small red dot stick on the tile card of the nearest painting. “Hang on a minute,” I say pointing. “Does that mean...”

“That someone wants to buy it, yep. We have told everyone that ‘the artist reserves the right to not sell if they choose to’, but the offer’s there if you want.”

I feel like I need to sit down. I just can’t believe what is happening. I must have died and gone to heaven, what with Enjolras and now this? There is no way that this can be my reality. I look around for Enjolras and see him talking excitedly to people at the door. I can’t believe he did all of this for me.

**Enjolras**

Jehan really outdid themselves publicising the show because within an hour the Musain is heaving with people, most of whom I have never seen before. I try to make myself useful but whenever I have a moment I find myself watching Grantaire, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride.

A woman comes over to me. “You’re boyfriends very talented,” she says.

“Oh he’s not...”

“The artist?” she guesses incorrectly. “I have a sense for these things. I own a gallery across town. I represent a few local artists and I’d be interested in meeting with him. I don’t want to ruin his cover, he seems to be enjoying keeping a low profile, but would you mind giving him my card. Tell him I’m looking forward to hearing from him.” She presents me with her card and I accept it, promising I will, the earlier misunderstanding virtually forgotten.

I make my way over to Grantaire. He looks up as I approach and smiles. “I was just asked to pass this on by a gallery owner,” I say, holding out the card. His eyes widen.

“Really?” he asks, taking it and turning it over in his fingers.

“I think she’s interested in representing you.” He puts the card in his pocket, a look of disbelief still on his face.

“I still can’t take this all in,” he admits.

Courfeyrac’s words come back to me, about this being a perfect moment. And then I remember Eponine’s threat and Combeferre’s advice.

“Would you mind stepping outside with me a minute?” I ask.

**Grantaire**

Enjolras takes my hand and leads me out onto the street. It’s evening now and it’s quite with the gentle hum of conversation drifting out of the cafe’s open door.

“So what did you want to talk about?” I ask, looking up at him.

Enjolras is quiet for a moment. He runs a hand though his hair and looks down at the pavement.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but now I think I owe it to you to be honest.”

“Honest about what?” I ask, growing worried.

“Remember when I said that if I wanted a relationship I would have perused one? Well, it seems like I have been, only I didn’t realise it until recently.” I frown in confusion, not really following what he is saying. He takes both my hands in his and I force myself to meet his gaze. “What are we doing?” he asks.

“Hanging out, being friends,” I offer.

“What if we could be something else as well as friends?” Is he saying what I think he’s saying? My brain feels like it has gone into shock. “I feel like there is something between us, am I wrong?”

“No,” I say, finally finding my voice.

“Then do you think you might want to explore this with me? I can’t make any promises and I don’t know what a relationship might look like for us, but I’d like to find out.” He _is_ saying what I think he’s saying, and if I were in any doubt that today was a figment of my imagination I have my proof right there. This can’t be real.

Still half believing that I am dreaming I step forward and kiss him.

He is sill for a moment and then he wraps me in his arms and kisses back. It’s clumsy and I can tell he hasn’t had much practice and it’s more amazing than I allowed myself to imagine it could be.

There is a ringing in my ears and then I realise what I am hearing is cheering from inside. I pull away and see our friends on the other side of the window smiling and waving at us. I hold my middle finger up and pull Enjolras down for another kiss.

“Is that a yes then?” he laughs.

“Yes it’s a yes,” I reply.

***

We sit in the deserted cafe after everyone had gone home, looking out at the empty show. Enjolras has been left with the keys to lock up. He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together.

“I still can’t believe you did all this,” I say.

He brings our hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of mine.

“I wanted to,” he says.

“You broke into my flat and stole my stuff,” I laugh. “I should be calling the police.”

“I have always been a firm believer in the spirit of the law rather than the letter of it. Do you think you’ll call the lady from the gallery?”

“Yeah, I think I will, though I’m not sure anything will come of it.”

“You won’t know that unless you try.”

We sit for a while longer. After the chaos and adrenaline of the day it’s nice to have a moment of peace.

“Do you want to come back with me?” I ask.

I wait patiently while he locks up and then we leave together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this far, thank you so much. This story has lived in my brain for a long time and I am so happy it now exists out in the world. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it and if you did please consider leaving me a comment. It would make my day to hear from you.
> 
> If you want more I wrote a short sequel called [A Day at the Lake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822424)
> 
> I am also sure I will return to this world from time to time for the occasional one shot.


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